2:23 AM
by whedonite1113
Summary: The maiden voyage of a luxury ocean liner to America brings streetwise Emily between betrothed Naomi and her aristocrat fiance. Everything stands between them, but nothing will keep them apart.
1. April 11th 1912 11:45 AM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): This fic was co-written with ItFeelsSoWrite, and has been written to near entirety. Weekly updates will be posted on Saturdays unless otherwise specified in the Post Author's note. I hope you all enjoy this endeavor, and don't forget to leave feedback! It makes the baby Jesus happy.**

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**04/11/1912 11:45 A.M.**

There was something about the pubs in Southampton that distinguished them from London's drinking holes. Whether it was the salt permeating the air or the fact that none of the Sotonian barkeeps knew of Emily Fitch's reputation as a pickpocket, smooth-talker and notorious marathon runner of tabs, all Emily knew for sure was that she felt lucky. Lucky enough to win her way to virgin territory on a maiden voyage guaranteed to make history. She wasn't sure which she was more excited to see; the Statue of Liberty or the innards of the world's largest ship to date. But before any of it, she had to see this last hand through. Preferably alive.

Sat at a round table of four, an untouched whiskey beside her and a fan of five cards in front of her face, Emily watched as the ill-tempered Swede across from her muttered harshly to his comrade beside him. They had been whispering back and forth for the last half-minute, about what Emily could not be sure. In all her travels, she had never had a reason to pick up Swedish. But considering the bickering had started the minute the shrinking companion offered up his ticket aboard the ship to set sail in fifteen minutes to the pot, she had a hunch the growling Viking descendant was not as eager to call the bet with his own.

As they continued to debate, heated breath lousy with liquor, Emily looked to the fourth player at her left. He was as broad as he was dark, his black skin sheening in the mugginess of the stale, smoky room. His eyes smiled before his lips could afford the same courtesy as he met Emily's sidelong glance. His hands were empty, his cards laid flat and neatly stacked upon the table, having folded with nothing left to spare. The lilt in his voice as he leaned inward towards Emily to speak in a hushed whisper suggested a French native.

"You turned out your pockets last hand. And now you finger what I assume is your last possession of worth." His black eyes momentarily traced to the necklace Emily tugged at as she rolled the charm attached between her index finger and thumb. It was one half of a two-piece trinket in the shape of a puzzle piece, pure gold with the name "Katherine" engraved in loopy, cursive font. There was no doubt that the sentimental value of the necklace far exceeded whatever it had cost to obtain it. Emily had sooner bet her father's pocket watch just moments before the ticket thickened the pot.

Caught in her absent-mindedness, Emily let the puzzle piece fall from her fingers, leaning in closer to the soft-spoken giant, genuinely curious as to how a man of such observance had yet to line his pockets with the contents spilled on the tabletop. "It is obvious they are together. You are willing to go all in, even knowing you are one versus two in a game of chance?"

Emily smiled for the stranger's concern and matching his volume, whispered back, "The owners of these treasures . . . if they're alive, they're in America. All this?" Her eyes jumped to the pocket watch briefly in indication. "It's . . . stuff. Stuff I have no intention of losing, but stuff none the less. It's not sweet, singing voices or strong, warm arms. It's nothing but memories of something I don't have anymore. And when you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose."

"Flicka. Spela." The simplistic bark in which the Swedish man spoke drew both Emily's and the stranger's attention back to the game at hand. Now in the pot, accompanied by a hand reluctant to let go of it, was a second ticket matching the first. The Swede stared hard at Emily, gauging her reaction as it went from neutral, to . . . something . . . to a grin only a madman or a fake would flash with the chance of a lifetime on the line. And it was only then that the man released his ticket and rocked back into his chair, exhaling a breath he had been holding the whole time.

Heart pounding, Emily placed her fan of cards down, dashing away the looks of relief beginning to flood across the faces of the foreigners with a "one moment" motion of her hand. Taking the same hand, she reached behind her neck and worked the latch of her necklace until it released. Pulling the chain free of her person, she refastened it and placed it atop the pile, smiling politely at the scowls across from her before picking her cards back up.

"I'm all in. Moment of truth."

* * *

The brand new Rolls-Royce which had been purchased as an engagement gift for Mr. Leonardo Mclair's son drove slowly across the walkway and up to the pier before finding an adequate parking space right in front of the primary leasing building for the White Star Line. The brunette passenger within the car's cabin peered out her window to see the flocks of people gathered for miles across the landing. Most had been there for days and rather out of curiosity or annoyance that the car was now taking up a wide birth of standing room, began to swarm against her car to see if they could recognize the person inside. To her right, the door opened and the young, handsome, and scathingly rich Fredrick Mclair stepped out dressed in his finest three piece light gray brass suit to cross in front of the car and shoo away the nosey onlookers. "Back, back, back, nothing to see here," his considerate but firm tone insisted as he opened the door on the left side of the car. A hand appeared first, perfectly and properly covered in a white glove before a boot stepped onto the ground. And from beneath a large, red hat a young, nineteen year old Naomi Campbell peered up at the massive ocean liner that the papers had heralded as "the ship of dreams."

"I don't see what the big fuss is," Naomi said as she turned to her fiance and pointed up at the massive ship in front of her. "It doesn't look much bigger than the Mortania."

"So this is the one that they call unsinkable?" Gina Campbell inquired as she stepped up behind her daughter and gave her future son-in-law a little pat on the back. Her face beamed out over the cogs of the crowd, all of them bustling and yelling to be heard over the range of noises circling about on the pier.

"God himself could not sink this ship," Fredrick commented, the gloating in his voice causing Naomi's eyes to instinctually roll. Before he could rattle off any form of a rebuttal, a tap on his shoulder indicated a steward was now nervously inquiring about the delivery of their bags. Naomi turned to her mother with a wry smile and muttered,

"Then 1912 is the ideal year to be an atheist." Gina gave her daughter a playful nudge before Fredrick re-appeared, offering an elbow to both women as they were led to the boarding dock.

Naomi fought not to be shoved in every direction whether by a bearded man, the charge of a battle army of children, or simply from becoming entangled with the other fine garments which were soon to be the semblance of the surrounding foreground in front of them. Fredrick handed their tickets off to the piers master and ushered Gina ahead of him so that Naomi could walk on his arm up over the masses, across the tiny cusp of the Atlantic, and into the ship.

Their feet immediately hit finely decorated carpets. There wasn't a speck of dust on any of the interior, and Naomi thought, as one of the nearby trays with a bucket full of fine silverware, _the China has never even been used_. A curious thought to have, certainly, seeing as how this was hardly her maiden voyage across any large body of water.

But she had to do something to drown out the ever present gnawing at her stomach, the frightful, shrill sounds of every fiber of her being which were urging her to disembark from the ship. Not for any reason of paranoia or fear, at least not about her travels, but rather entirely engulfed in the very aura, the very presence, the man who was smiling down at her.

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Eyes, not hands, moved to and fro as the three of them waited for the other to reveal their cards first. Had there not been the din of the patrons surrounding them, Emily bet she could have heard the gritting of teeth coming from the man across from her. It was certainly visible enough.

"You are left of the dealer, my friend," the Frenchman prompted kindly, addressing the Swede beside him by first tapping the make-do dealer button (a coaster - hardly utilized by the locals) and then tapping the backs of his cards. The Swede's chest swelled with another deep breath as he laid his cards down face-up and spread the stack with the drag of his thumb before leaving the cards be.

"Two pair," Emily announced under her breath, more for herself than for her company.

The Swede's companion was next to reveal, rousing a joy in Emily that took all of her willpower to suppress, made just the slightest bit easier by the way the owner of the two-pair tensed, hands balling into fists upon the table. Her French friend had been right. The Swedes used each other like safety nets, likely to split the pot that should have been easy winnings. Except that this safety net had nothing but a king high.

"Well boys, I can't say I'm happy yours are the last faces I'll see of England, but I am happy to say I won't be seeing them again." The Swedes looked on at Emily impatiently as she kept her tone and expression purposefully neutral. Until she couldn't.

The corners of her lips curled upward into the plump of her flushed cheeks even before she splayed her cards out in a neat, tight fan, revealing two queens and three sevens. "Full house!"

"Nej!" The temperamental Swede yelled, bolting upright in his chair, very nearly taking the table with him. He swiped up his ticket and loomed over the rest of the table towards Emily, white knuckles biting into the wood-grain as it bore his barely-leashed anger. Emily swallowed hard, but kept her eyes harder as she met the gaze meant to disintegrate her then and there. How she was going to pry her newly-won property from the jaws of this man's fingers she hadn't quite figured out when, very calmly, the Frenchman between them stood to his full height, rolling back his shoulders to display his barrel-built chest.

All eyes were on them now, most marveling at the size of the man that had managed to remain mostly invisible with his mild manner and choice words, others darting between the tense triangle, trying to fathom the outcome just on the horizon.

The Frenchman, still just as calm, extended his upturned palm in the neutral air between them, milky black eyes holding irate, buzzing blue irises in a silent, judicial stare. Jaw fit to crack into itself with how tightly he gnashed his teeth, the Swede's fist tremored before releasing the crumpled paper, reforming not a second later to swing at the face of his companion, knocking the man and his chair clean to the ground before storming out.

The bleeding man did not stir, but Emily was spurred to motion, quickly pulling the entirety of her winnings from the table with the cradle of her arms, gathering fistfuls as she neared the edge of the table to stuff her pockets. Smoothing out the crumpled ticket and snatching up the other, she looked to her defender with a curious glint in her eye.

"What's your name?" He smiled courteously as if he had not just stood in front of a seething locomotive.

"Thomas, ma'am." Smoothing out the neater of the two tickets, Emily extended it to Thomas.

"Thomas, would you like to go to America?" The Frenchman's lips parted to reveal a nearly blinding smile.

"Very much so."

"Then I'd suggest y'stop talkin' 'bout it," the bartender chuckled, twisting a rag into a freshly-rinsed mug. "The Titanic's set to sail in five minutes, mates."

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_**Ch. 2 Post Date: 02/21**_


	2. April 11th 1912 12:00PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (ItFeelsSoWrite): Hello! First off, I just want to thank everyone's enthusiasm and reviews. We're very excited to have so many people on board with us, especially knowing the tragedies to come. You brave fools.**

**It's Titanic. It's Naomily. It's an exciting blend of both that we hope is going to take your breath away. So without further ado . . .**

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**04/11/1912 12:00 P.M.**

Though the run may as well have been through molasses with how thick the crowds surrounding the port were, Emily and Thomas made it in the nick of time, flashing their tickets in lieu of speech as they staved off unconsciousness with gulps of air. With more than a little alarm in his furrowed brow, the inspector reached across the gap of the retracting boarding bridge, signaling its' stop with a vertical palm before taking the tickets and bringing them to eye level.

"And you've gone through health inspection?" the ticket-handler inquired, glancing past the parchment at Emily with hands thrown behind her head and eyes to the Titanic-filled skyline as she continued to suck down oxygen.

She broke away from the awe-inspiring sight to give the man a queer look, wetting her lips before countering, "I just ran half a mile in four minutes."

"Erm, yes, I suppose, but have you any history with lice?"

Emily rolled her eyes, but plucked the tweed newsboy hat from atop her head nonetheless to present her scalp to him, a cascade of dark chestnut locks spilling from where they had been bundled beneath the cap. Watching the exchange, Thomas mimicked Emily, pressing his hat to his chest as he took to one knee, evening out the height difference between he and the ticketmaster.

Staring at the tops of their heads in bafflement, the ticketmaster cleared his throat with a "right, well . . .", stepping aside to allow them entry.

"Thank you!" Emily praised in passing, leaping the small gap between the ship and docking plank with a skip in her step. Thomas followed after, taking the gap in a single, if not reaching stride.

"I am surprised they let us board," Thomas said through the tail-end of his panting, looking out through the hatch they had entered in until it was closed and locked behind them. Drawing her hair up into her hands, Emily gave the mass a twirl before plopping her hat snugly atop.

"I'm not. Have you seen you?" Emily shot Thomas a sidelong smirk before gaining her bearings. "There's a stairwell not too far off." She started in its direction, calling back to Thomas with a sing-song lilt, "Down, down, and a little bit lower."

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The stateroom which had been rented for Fredrick by his father was one of the most prestigious on the ship with gorgeous furniture, two estate bedrooms, a large lounging area complete with a glistening mantle, as well as a private promenade deck which was lit brightly with a series of perfectly pristine windows. It was utterly breathtaking. Or it would have been to anyone who wasn't Naomi Campbell.

While Gina and Fredrick took delight in having their lunch out in the rustling sun, Naomi stayed inside, all the windows and doors shut, as she began to unpack the finest of her treasures, leaving her clothes and other senseless things to be manhandled by the servants who were asking a series of asinine and utterly unimportant questions about where Fredrick's ties should go or if her mother preferred her undergarments on the top or bottom drawer of their large, oak vanity.

No, no. These were not the trivial things Naomi used to occupy what little space in her head she felt could be hers in the tiny private moments of the day. Instead she poured over the latest series of paintings which she now used to decorate any unoccupied space amongst the crannies of the lounge that could stand a bit of color and good taste. Each in this batch were from a brand new artist to go with her older purchases of Monet and Van Gogh, a young man by the name of Picasso. Naomi found every brush stroke to be extraordinary, and as she knelt down to pour over the last contribution of art to this new sea-bound prison cell, she felt her own insides clench at the contorted face of the painted woman before her.

"You think you've got it bad," she grumbled to the portrait, "though I suppose having one's nose against one's neck would make anyone cranky." A small smile drew across her lips as she stood, admired the work of art for a moment more, and then cut the rope binding the second batch of canvases.

It was unusually quiet for such a large number of people on board. Eerily so. The servants were attending to their fussy duties in relative silence, leaving Naomi alone to remain with her thoughts...and the distorted woman with the unfortunate nose...

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After two flights of stairs down to G deck, Emily and Thomas followed the row of doors leading to room 360, finding the door partially cracked as Emily pushed on through. Two sandy-haired men ceased unpacking their luggage bags to look up, confusion knitting their brows.

"Hey fellas. I'm Sven. This here is Olaf," Emily gave a small jerk of her head in Thomas' direction as she peeled off her overcoat, leaving the two men to whisper amongst one another in Swedish.

It only took a single, sweeping glance to familiarize herself with the tiny room. Two bunk-beds hugged opposite walls, barely five feet between them to navigate in. Also pressed to the walls, one apiece to accompany each bunk, were fine chestnut dressers topped with matching-framed mirrors. Bright sunlight spilt through the singular, paned porthole, adequately lighting the white-washed room on its own.

"Could I have the top bunk?" Thomas requested, having to press into Emily's space to swing the door closed behind him.

"Have any bunk you want," Emily encouraged, tossing her coat on the bottom mattress and flushing her back to the wall to allow Thomas room to situate. Tugging the wrinkles from her shirt collar and re-tucking her shirt tails, Emily checked her appearance in the mirror. "With some luck, I won't be needing either," she gave Thomas a wink before navigating around him, turning in the doorway on her way out, "I'm heading topside. You can have the drawers too. Looks like I'm traveling light."

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Some hours later, Naomi once again found herself on Fredrick's arm, re-dressed and being escorted to afternoon tea. She wasn't particularly feeling up to the social engagement but Fredrick insisted that they were to attend. "It's about keeping up appearances, Naomi," Fredrick reminded her as they neared the large doors which led toward the massive dining hall on the starboard side of the ship. He said it in such a tone that Naomi couldn't help but feel like, "and you'd know a lot about that, wouldn't you," should have been added at the end. But Fredrick was far too much of a gentleman for something that juvenile. _A lesson my subconscious should follow_, Naomi thought to herself. Looking around at the finely tailored suits, the unique garb on the thin layers of dresses, Naomi pulled at the collars on her light lace sleeves, a nervous habit she'd adopted from childhood.

_Why did I pick this dress? It's tight. Too tight to sit in for any amount of time. Stupid_.

Fredrick pulled a chair out for her as the other two men at the already filled table stood. Gina, at the end closest to Naomi's chair, was already in the calming of her own clear burst of laughter. "Naomi, darling, wonderful! We were having a lovely chat, weren't we gentlemen," she said with a large, brandishing smile. "I believe you have all met my future son in law, Fredrick Mclair."

"Of the Bristol Mclairs?" Mr. Ismay, at the far end of the table inquired as Fredrick took his seat beside his fiance. "Extraordinary," he added, although the light twinge of his handle bar mustache suggested he couldn't be bothered with more than a pleasant adjective to accentuate the fact that he had in fact a hair breadth of breeding in his being. Fredrick smiled and immediately began to prepare a plate that Naomi was certain was for her. He never let her place her own orders at the table. Or prepare her own tray of sandwiches and biscuits. Hell, he even poured her tea for her when he was given the opportunity.

"One in the same," Fredrick politely replied. Just as he was about to reach for the China tea pot, Naomi's bare hand reached across and gripped the handle, pouring the hot water onto her tea bag in spite of the way the ceramic lightly twinged at her finger tips. She didn't flinch as she placed the water back onto the table and immediately began to sip away at the hot beverage.

"She's a pistol, Freds," the young brassy woman, many on the ship called Molly, said with a smile on her face and a raise of the coffee from her cup. "Never did like tea much, always gave me the trots," she explained as she sipped on her thick black drink. Naomi gave her an appreciative smile while the rest of the table grimaced at her broguish remark.

"Now you, I like, Miss Brown," Naomi praised, "you say what's on your mind which is tremendously refreshing."

"You're the first to say so, aside from my husband of course. Mrs. Molly Brown, if you will," Molly corrected Naomi jovially, drawing her left hand to Naomi's sight. As she gave her wrist a quick rotate, it was nearly impossible to discern the true color of the gem set in her wedding band, changing with every catch of the light. Naomi's impressed expression was perfectly genuine and not at all unnoticed by Mrs. Molly Brown. "Careful, Miss Campbell. Lesser men have gone blind lookin' too long."

Cracking into a smile, Naomi brought her eyes from one marvel to another, cautiously optimistic in her twist of luck. "Oh god, Naomi, please, Miss Campbell is this dusty old bird beside me. And I meant no offense. You just don't seem the type to settle."

"I never do," Molly assured her with a wink. "Only the stars for me!"

Naomi beamed, feeling relaxed for the first time since setting foot on the ship's deck. So comfortable in fact that she removed a cigarette from the gold case within her daytime clutch and lit it with an almost cowboy-like quality, taking a heavy draw and exhaling it above her head in thick ringlets. Molly smiled and gave the woman a laugh of her own in return, until Fredrick nicked the cigarette from in between Naomi's fingers and put it out on her nearby pear dish. The men at the table sat up a bit straighter but seemingly more proud none the less. All, that is, except one.

"You really have built a fine ship, Mr. Andrews," Gina interrupted quickly, turning the attention to the one man at the table who seemed to be remotely uncomfortably with Fredrick's gentle yet insistently firm hand on Naomi's actions.

"It was Mr. Ismay's idea, I just sculpted everything out to his design and liking. They said she couldn't be made nor in the time allotted but here she is, right on time, and more incredible than I could have ever imagined." The man's eyes twinkled as he spoke of his creation, causing Naomi's iced over expression to melt just the tiniest bit at his soft, kind expression.

"It was you who thought of the name Titanic, was it not Mr. Ismay?" Fredrick asked, taking a sip from the tea he had prepared for himself. Bruce Ismay straightened his back just the tiniest bit as his hands folded in front of him like he were about to present the dissertation of his life, and one that he had rehearsed for several audiences again and again.

"Why, yes. I wanted to convey sheer size. And size means stability, luxury, but above all strength." Naomi's mouth curled in the tiniest bit of a smile, a warning sign that Gina had seen in the young woman many times as she grew. But her hand on her daughter's wrist was a little too late as Naomi countered,

"Have you ever read anything by Doctor Sigmund Freud, Mr. Ismay? His theories on men's preoccupation with size might be a fascinatingly penetrating subject for you to scope out." Fredrick choked on his tea. Molly smiled, not even trying to hide the laugh leaking from her lips. Mr. Andrews chuckled into his tart. Gina rolled her eyes. But Mr. Ismay just stared back.

"Freud? Who is he...is he a...passenger?" Apparently Molly and Mr. Andrews were unable to contain themselves at Mr. Ismay's reply and both had to cover their reddening faces as Naomi excused herself from the table with a definitive groan.

* * *

Somewhere between E and D deck, the Titanic groaned into motion. Cheers and claps were heard from above Emily in the stairwell, trickling down quickly to infect the lower-deck passengers with the same giddy elation overtaking the ship. It only took a half-minute for the full of Titanic to cooperate and the once-jarring lurch forward to smooth into a virtually undetectable stroll. Releasing her steadying grip on the handrail, Emily charged forward with renewed motivation. Southampton may not have been much to her, but it was still the last she'd see of England's coast, and if the Titanic was as fast as her creators boasted, now was the time for goodbyes.

By the time Emily reached the outdoor deck, Southampton was already a faint suggestion on the horizon, the smoke from its factories the most identifiable remnant of a land long behind them now. She marveled at the shrinking port city until she could no longer tell if she still saw it, or just remembered it in her vision, before her eyes shot to the stern. Jogging her fingers atop the white railings in tandem with her own steps, Emily followed the vibrations of the propellers beneath her feet until there was no more deck to be walked. She peered over the back end of the ship with her entire torso, delighting in the white froth seething below before a bit of passing conversation hooked her ear.

"Did you see, Dad? The dolphins! They're racing us. They're winning!"

_The bow!_ Like a shot, Emily bounced back off the railing in the opposite direction. If she thought the stern was impressive, what was she missing up front? Apologizing her way through leisurely strollers and outrunning the warnings of White Star Line employees requesting her to slow down, Emily reached the bow, thrilled to see that no one had claimed the apex. Hopping up on the lowest bar of the railing, a foot on either side, Emily steadied herself before looking down once more. Carving trailing Vs behind them, in formations vague but organized, gathered pods of dolphins riding alongside Titanic's path, leaping and zig-zagging ahead, only to fall right back beside her. Never had Emily witnessed a procession quite as enthused, and in that moment she could not help but think that she had just witnessed the crowning of the sea's newest queen.

The rushing wind rosying Emily's cheeks was slowly shifting from exhilarating to biting, prompting Emily to step down and marvel somewhere a little less exposed. Seeking the wind-breaking benefits of the nearby cargo crane, Emily leaned her back against it before sliding down to sitting, taking her first relaxing breath since the nail-biting poker game.

Closing her eyes, Emily breathed deep of the cool, Atlantic air, catching for the first time the lilt of a string quartet somewhere nearby. The longer she listened, the more Emily heard. Laughter. Tears for those who could not accompany their loved ones. Gasps of awe, and opposite of that, snide downplaying of the magnificence underfoot. And complimenting all of it, ever-present but noticeable only to those listening for it, was the hum of the engines echoing up and out of the black-tipped funnels.

The Titanic was alive. She had a heartbeat of steam, a will that split the ocean at her whim, and the dreams of thousands caged safely in her chest. It was a very real possibility that Emily would never find a woman quite as majestic as she. A woman like this . . . she deserved to be drawn. Every curve. Every nuance. Surely someone aboard could spare paper and charcoal?

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_**Ch. 3 Post Date: 2/28**_


	3. April 12th 1912 7:45 PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): Since this is a collaborative effort, the POV for this fic will also share a duality. It was agreed upon by Write and I that due to the nature of this story the best possible way to tell it was in Emily and Naomi's perspective throughout, so hopefully the transitions are clear. If you like what you read, please let us know in the reviews. They're always greatly appreciated. Cheers!**

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**04/12/1912 7:45 P.M.**

Naomi's little escapade at tea didn't go unreprimanded, and not by the usual hand of her fiance, but by her mother. _She always did have an annoying flux of deciding when she wanted to be a parent and when she wanted to be my friend._ Gina's insistent, sharp tone did not have anything to do with Naomi's disrespect to the guests at their table. But rather the harsh, unnecessary blow it marked onto the ego of the man she had promised to marry. "Honestly, you act like you don't even like him at all," her mother bitingly observed as she helped Naomi dress for dinner. "It was your idea to marry him, Naomi, not mine, and if you are going to be his wife then at least pay him the respect he deserves in front of his peers. I certainly raised you better than that, or at least I hope I did." Naomi had remained stoically silent, internal boiling rage seething into stoney ice as her mother continued. "This marriage was supposed to make you happy." The declaration was a double edged sword against Naomi's ear as she remained quieter than a church mouse, as her mother lost a tiny shred of her temper at her daughter's stoicism. "You have to learn to live with the consequences of your choices, Naomi. If you choose a man, regardless of whatever your reason is, then he is owed the care and appreciation of that choice. A courtesty I would pray he would show you, which to my understanding, Fredrick always has." Her mother had looked upon her with sallow and unhappy eyes, and was about to continue when another coughing fit took her. Naomi had helped her mother down to the bed and insisted she stay in while she went to dinner. She was cautious to throw away the bloodied handkerchief before she left the tiny stateroom which conjoined she and Fredrick's.

The first twenty four hours spent on the luxurious oceanic White Star Line ship had been a series of hum drum parades. Mindless and tedious in their demands, Naomi felt like she was running on autopilot as Fredrick escorted her around, and not even the bright shiny deck complete with a gorgeous view and bright beaming sun could possibly lighten up the drudgery of every single event which was held. Naomi normally exhibited a frustrated persona, putting up a frustrated rouse wherein she could stay inside all day and look through the booklets of paintings she had purchased on all of her fiance's many business endeavors, leaving her to her solidarity for a majority of the evening. But here, for whatever reason, perhaps it was the complete air of the thing now that their engagement had been formally announced to British society, Naomi had adorned what seemed like every possible nook and crany of Titanic's first class suites, and found nere a single joy in the entire course.

On the evening of the second day at sea, she found Fredrick waiting for her in the sitting room to escort her to dinner. He was dressed in his light blue tuxedo, one of which Naomi had openly commented on being very becoming on him. Once. And now he wore it for every other occasion. His long, raven hair was slicked back on either side, leaving the top to a smooth whisp of a part just above his eyes. He looked incredibly dashing...so why was it that Naomi's fingers twinged and wanted to recoil as he took her hand. Her skin often crawled at his touch, but not because he was not good to her. By all accounts, as her mother said, he was a prized catch and not just for his fortune. He was well known amongst his friends to be an upstanding gentleman in every sense of the word and when Naomi met him, he seemed to be the one thing amongst a sea of manys which could distill her from the boring world outside.

But once he began his grooming to take over his father's estates and businesses, he became less and less like the carefree Freddie she had grown affectionate for and more and more like Mr. Fredrick Mclair, future business tycoon.

Even as his hand rested on her shoulder for a supposedly tender moment as she took her seat at their assigned dinner table, she felt as if it were an iron clasp, forcing and locking her down into the chair. A bear trap from which she herself had produced, and now more than anything, wished to escape from. The chatter about the room began to rise and fall in a swelling din as she listened to yet another order being placed for her, another attendant bringing her the same dry champagne to go with the same dry caviar.

It was stiffling. But it was her present life. And it seemed it would be her life ever more. The soft cooing sound of a child nearby brought her momentarily out of her thoughts, but the smile which was forming on her lips at the sweet girl's bright and cheery disposition was quickly dashed as she saw the child's mother, seated adjacent to her, pop the small girl's hand with a reprimand for nearly reaching for her cake with her bare fingers. She then thrust a fork into the tiny fingers, insisting she use it in a harsh whisper. The young girl's expression hardened and Naomi saw the tiniest twinkle leave her eyes, just for the briefest of moments.

And it broke Naomi's heart.

She immediately asked to be excused, not caring that Fredrick was asking her if she were feeling ill. She gave him no answer as she made her way without an escort out of the dining room and toward the entrance of the deck. The cold night air bit at her cheeks as her pace increased, the brush of her dress now sweeping as she broke into a run. A set of stairs nearby ushered her onto a deck further away from the dining room, away from Fredrick, away from her present, her future, and away from the poor little girl that had been left sitting in the chair..._In my chair...or hers..._ for just a moment.

Naomi did not know where she was running to, and as she headed further down the stern of the ship, she passed fewer and fewer people on deck. As she neared the large white railing, she grasped onto the cold iron of the flag pole at Titanic's back, feeling it practically singe her skin with the bite of the freezing air. She looked down into the black ocean, the sea which had carried vessel after vessel, gigantic and tiny alike all throughout the centuries. A place where there was escape from every piece of bound land. The longer she looked, the more she felt it calling to her, the rush and spit of the sea. Before she could fully comprehend what she was doing, she stepped up onto the railing, maintaining her balance as her foot lightly twinged against the metal. Once she was above and could feel the sweeping wind in front of her begin to pick up its pace she stepped over, placing her feet atop the farthest edge of the wood beneath her feet. Gripping the metal behind her, she slowly began to lower herself against the rush of the oceanic roar, noticing how much louder and ferocious and beckoning it seemed. So it was a startling shock when she heard an insistently loud cry of, "Don't!" come from behind her.

Her head turned as her grip tightened in spite of what her earlier dark desires had bade her follow. There was a...a..._girl...she's a girl even though she's dressed like a man..._standing a few feet away in a dusty brown suit, hair bundled up beneath a page boy's hat, skin so porcelain and large brown eyes..._such brown eyes..._her hands were raised as she approached, causing Naomi's instinctive voice to bite back, "Stay back! I'll jump, I swear!"

Emily was sure of it now as Naomi looked back at her. She had seen this woman - no, this vision - before her just the other day, in the glare of the setting sun, haloed like the holy entity she had to be. She was sad then, too. Perhaps sadder, in a way. There had been an emptiness in her eyes then that could not be found now amidst the fear and pain and . . . anticipation.

"Please don't," Emily's husky plea broke over the whipping wind as she stayed her slow approach at Naomi's behest. "It's just . . . this is the closest I've seen you. Did you know your eyes are silver in the moonlight?"

Naomi laughed, not intending to mock the compliment, but unable to contain her glee at the irony. Her arms tingled from the tightness within them as she continued to stare at this woman, wondering where she got off stalking her and knowing what her eyes looked like and...smiling at her in a way that made other parts of her warm... "You're impertinent. And peculiar...skulking about the first class part of the ship, spying on me. You shouldn't even be here." The woman's smile only grew in spite of Naomi's insults, and if she weren't so cold, Naomi was certain she would be blushing.

"Spying?" Emily repeated, throwing Naomi's earlier laugh right back at her before proudly displaying her soot-smeared fingers, wiggling them as she outstretched both hands in tandem toward Naomi. Feeling brave, she let the toes of her boots slide just an inch closer, nearly certain the woman was too distracted to notice. "I was sketching. Can't really access this area in the day." She plucked at her 3rd-class attire with a slight frown, then looked back up from her shoddy threads. "Besides, I have a feeling you shouldn't be here, either. Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

Naomi laughed again, in spite of herself, and in doing so she nearly released the bar which she still desperately clung to. The young woman took a leaping step forward, but Naomi regained herself quickly, her voice raising several decibels as she insisted, "please just...whoever you are go away! I-this is none of your business! Just leave me alone!"

"Emily! My name's Emily," Emily persisted edgily, Naomi's near slip giving her heart a racing start. Despite the woman's insistent protests, Emily reached her hand towards Naomi. She was close now, Naomi but another arm's-length away, but she may as well have been at the other end of the ship for all the good it did. Until Naomi's hand was in hers, Emily hardly felt the ground beneath her own feet. "Now stop being stupid and let me help you up, will you? You're not going to do it."

"I would so!" Naomi contended, as she looked down at Emily's outstretched hand, half of her begging to take it for safety, the other begging to take it because it was the softest port in the storm which was still raging inside of her. "Besides what do you plan on doing if I jump? Leap in after me? The fall alone would kill you. Who's being stupid now?"

Letting her arm drop, Emily rested her hands at her hips, glancing down at the deck before locking eyes with a trembling Naomi. "I would if it came down to it. Is that what you sophisticated ladies do? Discuss what ifs? What if I didn't wear my sundress to tea? What if I slept in until noon? What if I chose who _I _wanted to marry? . . . Aren't you tired of what ifs? Isn't that why you're here? To _do _something?" A beat of silence roared between them, Emily's expression softening as she extended her hand to Naomi once more. "I think you can do anything. So what if you took my hand instead?"

Utterly flabbergasted by Emily's response, Naomi's features softened as she pondered aloud, "Really?" in a sincere almost child like tone, this time drumming her hands against the railing before raising one just a hair. Which was enough for Emily to grab it and hold onto as they both worked at turning her into a position so she could climb back over the railing.

"Carefully," Emily replied as she took Naomi's waist. Almost instantly Naomi felt a shock wave course all the way up and down her spine, causing her to momentarily freeze. "What? What is it?" Emily inquired. Naomi shook her head.

"N-nothing," she insisted as she allowed Emily to slowly help her back onto the lit part of the ship's deck. It wasn't until Naomi was secure of the ground beneath her that she noticed the startling height difference between them, and the fact that Emily had removed neither of her hands from Naomi's palm or waist. As if on instinct, Naomi's free hand rose and rested atop Emily's shoulder as the two stood quiet for a moment, observing one another in wash of the ship's glow. "Still think my eyes are silver?" Naomi boldly asked as the corner of her mouth upturned in a cheeky smile, a small bite following within the same crany.

"Mm," Emily stalled, gladly taking the invitation to get a good, long, uninterrupted look, delighting in the blush her unabashed admiration sprung in both their cheeks. "They're blue," Emily murmured in correction, eyes trailing down to Naomi's lips - also blue. The thought to warm them with her own had just barely begun to root before the alert flicker of Naomi's eyes past her prompted her that they were soon to have company.

"Freddie!" Naomi called, removing all extremities touching this 'Emily' person and immediately side-stepping her to go to her fiance. Admittedly, she was left with a harsh draft after extracting herself from Emily's warm embrace. _Embrace? No...no not like a...a romantic sort of...well, sort of-_ "You'll never believe what happened, darling," she began, pulling Fredrick toward Emily and noting the sour purse which had formed on the smaller woman's expression. _Sweet._

"Won't I?" he inquired, taking note of Emily and nodding politely but nothing more.

"I was taking in some fresh air, a stroll, and wanted to get a closer look down at the ocean when a large gust of wind nearly blew me right off the deck. My dress got caught and I couldn't remove it. Gratefully, Emily, here, passed by and was kind enough to give me a hand." Emily burst out laughing, Naomi's eyes shooting daggers at her before their gaze intensely locked yet again, Naomi's irises dancing with anticipation hoping that the young woman would go along with her lie.

"Are you hurt?" Fredrick asked, examining his fiance all the better this time. "You came out here in such a huff, I wanted to give you time to-oh well look at me being rude, you don't care for a betrothed couple's affairs do you?" Naomi's cheeks pinkened, and for the very first time she was really rather ashamed of the title she had locked on to the man whose arm she still graciously but loosely held. "To thank you, you will come to dinner with us tomorrow evening. As my guest, I insist Miss, um, what did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't. Emily Fitch," Emily offered with strained politeness, unsure of whether to offer a hand to Fredrick or to keep them stuffed in the pockets of her trousers, lest she be tempted to return them to Naomi's frame. When Fredrick made no move to seal their introduction in a friendly clasp, Emily simply followed suit. After all, he was her better. _With the best on his arm_. "But I didn't catch yours. Mr. and Mrs. . . .?" Her gaze flickered briefly to Naomi as she inflected the end of "missus".

"No Mr. and Mrs. yet," Fredrick insisted, "just Freddie and Naomi," he pointed to himself and then to his fiance, "Mclair and Campbell. Not to mention, I strongly doubt Naomi will allow herself to take my name. She's really rather...unconventional..." Naomi glanced between Fredrick and Emily, both of whom had a strange competitive gaze in their eyes. It made her feel strange, uncomfortable, and admittedly a little aroused.

"Will I see you tomorrow, Emily?" Naomi inquired, hoping to deter the curious tension.

"What if you did?" Emily answered, the animation in her face returning with just a hint of a rogueish smirk, winking at Naomi as she walked past the well-dressed couple. As if as an afterthought, Emily turned on her heels a few paces out to face them again, orienting her body towards Fredrick as she addressed his invitation. "I would love to join you, Mr. Mclair, thank you." Smiling, she looked to Naomi, tugging at the brim of her cap with a bow of her head, "Ms. Campbell," before straightening back up. "Until tomorrow."

* * *

_**Ch. 4 Post Date: 03/07**_


	4. April 13th 1912 8:10 AM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): Here is where the story takes a large turn away from the canon. Freddie Mclair isn't Cal Hockley, and Naomi and Emily share more than a few words on their walk aboard Titanic's first class deck. Get ready for a lot of original material that will slowly bleed into the purpose of why this fic was conceived in the first place. And please, now more than ever, if you enjoy what you read let us know. We want to know what you think! Also, can anyone who is familiar with our other work tell who writes what yet? Come on...take a guess...'cuz when ya got nothin', ya got nothin' to lose!**

* * *

**04/13/1912 8:10 A.M.**

The following morning, Naomi woke slowly with images of large brown eyes flitting through her head. She took one glance at the reflection of her fiance getting dressed in the glass and woefully tried to reassure herself that the gaze she had spent all night dreaming about belonged to the dark eyes of her fiance...and not to a cross-dressing woman who had saved her life last night. Fredrick caught her staring just as he fastened his cufflinks. "Good morning, Naomi," he said with a small, sincere smile, "sleep well?" Naomi nodded, momentarily adjusting herself beneath the duvet, her inner thighs still somewhat sore from last night. Thinking on her own discomfort and how it was only amplified by the foreign chill in the room, she pulled the covers up to her chin. Fredrick's smile grew at her modesty. "Really, Naomi, it isn't anything I haven't seen before." Naomi scrunched the fabric between her fingers in a disgruntled huff and roughly shoved them back down to her lap.

"Well announce it for the whole world, won't you?" Seeing the pout stretch across Naomi's face, Fredrick gave her a mock one of his own as he crossed to the edge of the bed and sat adjacent to her, his arm draping over her lap.

"Come now, Naomi, everyone does it. It's simply that it isn't talked about in polite society." He lowered his nose atop hers and gave it a little, playful brush, earning a half smile from Naomi. "You didn't used to care what others thought. It's one of the things I love about you. And I _do _love you, Naomi, you know that, right? I'd-I'd never want-" His hesitation led Naomi to believe that they were about to discuss the events of above deck, that maybe he sensed there was something else going on, apart from which he was told, that_ needed _to be discussed. But Naomi had no interest in broaching the subject at all.

"Freddie...if this is about last night, I really have never seen her before. She was just there on the back of the boat, and we were talking a bit after she pulled me free, I've honestly never-"

"I was going to apologize for my lack of attention. Of friendly, caring and considerate attention from your fiance, from your lover, from your future husband. I felt responsible for your running off. I wasn't going to ask about anyone." Something passed behind Fredrick's eyes in that moment. A deep seeded hurt that Naomi knew she was her fault, somehow, but one she was utterly unsure how to draw back from as the young man's eyes darkened sadly.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Freddie," she said, placing a chaste kiss upon his lips, and immediately wishing it wasn't his lips she was pressed against. So she kissed him harder, hoping to draw out some sense of passion between them, a passion that she admittedly had never felt in Fredrick's arms. But a passion she had sensed in one, tiny hand hold, one light embrace from Emily last night. They continued to kiss for a few moments before Fredrick pulled back, his expression warming but still not completely at ease.

"Open your heart to me, Naomi. There is nothing I could deny you if you only did that." Naomi surveyed her fiance. The man whom she had sworn her loyalty to, if not by law, then at the very least in name. The man who would help alleviate the woes hanging over she and her mother's pains and worries. By every right, she should love him. She did love him.

_Don't I?_

Naomi smiled at Fredrick, kissed him on the cheek, and rose from bed to begin her second day on the Titanic...secretly hoping that she would be able to find Emily on the massive oceanic liner as fast as she possible.

* * *

Finding a niche to sketch in that allowed Emily visual of the first class leisure rooms above deck proved more difficult in the day than it had been in the cloak of night. After memorizing the most habitual of travel paths of White Star Line employees, Emily decided to haunt just outside of the 2nd class stairwell, slinking around the corner anytime a crisp white uniform approached. It wasn't much of a lookout. Even less so when Emily considered that nearly every space above deck either belonged to the first and second class, or the captain's trusted crew. Naomi could come up anywhere, literally anywhere on the massive deck, short of employee-only sections. But she had faith that it would work out. Everything had so far, hadn't it?

The sound of the nearby stairwell door creaking into a rapid swing and the metallic ring it made as it hit the wall it was hinged to made Emily jump out of her skin and to her feet. She watched in frozen curiosity, stuck between the instinct of flight and the odd sight of a sandy-haired lad barreling full-speed out onto the deck. As he passed Emily, glancing over his shoulder at the door closing in on itself of its own weight, he stopped for just a second, eyes still glued to the door, and shoved the contents of his clenched palm against Emily's chest with a, "'old this fer me willya, mate?"

Before Emily could protest, he was off again, making it another ten feet from the door before it swung open a second time, pushed open by an extended arm clad in pristine white. The man to step out was clearly an employee, and clearly looking for someone. His mustache practically trembled as he spotted the sandy-haired dervish, spittle flying from his lips as he snarled. "You! Stop where you are!"

The sandy-haired stranger did as told, an arrogant smile on his lips as he turned to face his captor's approach. Emily watched on as their voices dropped between them, fingers wrapping around the object that had been pressed to her. Whatever it was, it was long and metallic, still radiating with the warmth from the stranger's grip. Opening her palm to steal a glance, she confirmed that it was an iron key. Attention jumping back to the men just a little ways off, she noticed for the first time a keyring hanging from the black leather belt of the mustashioed man's uniform. Connecting the dots, it made sense as to why the sandy-haired man was now turning the pockets of his trousers inside-out. And taking off his shirt . . . and dear lord, why was he undoing his belt now? Throwing his hands up to insist the blonde man cease before giving the entire deck an unforgettable show, the mustachioed man walked away in defeat, face red with embarrassment and rage as he passed Emily to disappear back below deck.

As the door slammed closed behind the man, the thief ambled up to Emily, gaze down his torso as he refastened his belt and the buttons of his shirt.

"Thanks, kid. Y'saved m'ass joos' now." Choosing to leave his collar button loose, he finally looked up to regard Emily as something more than a safebox-in-a-pinch. His brow furrowed as for the first time, he noticed the feminine features beneath the bill of her boyish cap. "'old up. Wot's yer name?"

"Emily."

"Emily? Don'cha mean Emilio?" the man insisted. In one fluid motion, he very nearly popped Emily's hat clean off her head, palm slapping the bill of it upward. In the split-second Emily reacted, bringing both her hands up to smash her hat back down lest the wind don it for itself, the man took advantage of her lack of guard, swiping a finger across her blouse, loosening the topmost, fastened button. "Y'got bindin's on underneaf as well?" He inquired, making a move to peer down her blouse before she shoved him away. He allowed himself to be jostled, throwing his head back in a childish chuckle as he fished in his pocket for a cigarette.

"I'm Cook," he introduced, producing two cigarettes between his fingers before offering one to Emily. With a wary stare and a slow pluck, Emily accepted the peace offering, pocketing it for later when her nerves would need calming. Striking a match, Cook puffed until the tip of his cigarette cherried, considerately blowing the smoke up and away from Emily. "Don' suppose you'd gimme m'key back?"

"Your key?" Emily repeated incredulously, fingering the object in question as she tried to make her mind up concerning the stranger. On one hand, she was wildly impressed with his quick thinking. He had a smile that could disarm a militia. And fingers nearly as skilled as her own. Nearly. Perhaps the more important question was, was she going to turn in a fellow 3rd-classer, knowing the feat he had just pulled? How many times had the silence of others fed her throughout the years? They weren't much different, really. "You mean our key?"

Cook flicked the ash of his cigarette with an appreciative laugh. "I like you, Emilio. Tell ya wha'. 'old on t'tha' key fer me, meet me back 'ere in say . . . an hour? Show ya wha' tha' key opens, and y'kin 'ave whatevah I don't taike."

"Who are we robbing?"

"Iffin' I tell ya tha', you'll find the room wifout me. Less joos' say eht's someone tha' won't even notice, promise ya. So . . .?"

As Emily considered Cook's relaxed expression, a glimpse of her dreams caught in the corner of her eyes. She glanced in its direction, heart beating just the faintest bit harder as she watched the sun kiss the partial up-do of Naomi's auburn hair, turning it a fiery gold.

"Sure! Yes!" she agreed abruptly, hoping to dismiss her partner in crime before Naomi could spot-_Oh no_.- before Naomi spotted her across the way. She tried to hide behind Cook's frame, stepping slightly to the left to align herself with him, but Naomi's eyes followed her. She had a minute, maybe two if Naomi glided like the lady her fiance meant her to be, to get rid of Cook. She thought of surrendering the key in exchange for his immediate departure and nearly moved to do so before she realized Cook had followed her distracted glance past his shoulder. He looked back at Emily with a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Back 'ere. One hour. We'll nick somefin' pretty fer the lady." Flashing Emily one last, toothy smile, Cook made his exit in the opposite direction of Naomi's approach, strolling briskly and with a definitive swagger to his step.

There was some semblance of a shadow of a young man leaving Emily's presence, but Naomi had her gaze set on the little doe-eyed savior who had come to her rescue the previous evening. Thinking yet again for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon about their...almost kiss...from last night, she willed her body not to flush as she neared the smaller girl. "Hello," she tried out just as soon as her vicinity leveled to Emily's. She was pleasantly met with the same grin she was unable to hide as Emily replied,

"Hey yourself."

Slowly raising her hand, Naomi asked, "May I?" as she pointed at Emily's disheveled hair which lay outside of her cap. Before she could receive a reply she was weaving her fingers within the deep raven locks. There was a softness in her touch as she attempted to organize the loose tendrils neatly beneath the hat. She mentally praised herself for maintaining a cool air within her composure, but all it took was Emily staring at her like a star struck school boy to start her fingers trembling. "Oh to hell with it here," she whispered in exaggeration, pulling the hat free and letting Emily's hair flow.

The vision that was pint sized Emily Fitch in the bright daylight nearly took Naomi's breath away. Now it was _she _who was the riled young school boy in this scenario, utterly incapable of looking anywhere apart from the dimpled cheeks that were carrying a crooked, seductive smile which was making Naomi weaker the longer she remained standing. For never being at a loss for just the right, if not utterly scathing thing to say, she suddenly found she could not think of one clear word in the English, or any other language, and hoped that Emily would soon break the silence and relieve her of her spiraling gaze.

"I've been waiting for you . . ." Emily admitted freely, unable to resist allowing a mindful intimacy to slip into her private tone. Relieving Naomi of her hat with a daring caress of her hand, Emily gathered her sketchbook and charcoal from the ground and slipped them inside, tucking the bundle beneath her left arm before presenting the crook of her right elbow to Naomi. "Walk with me?"

"She's quite the gentleman," Naomi said with a coy smile. "And with your papers and parchment, have you found any interesting subject to unwittingly capture?" The gate of their stride was seamlessly in tandem. Emily's foot falls were quieter against the little beat of Naomi's heel but she found herself focusing on it momentarily to try and ease her heart to a steadying rhythm.

"Like I said, I've been waiting for you," Emily repeated coyly, delighting as Naomi's mild surprise blossomed into a light blush. Her blue eyes remained dodged to the ground and Emily wondered if she would have looked up if Emily's own stare hadn't been quite so unabashed. She thought a moment whether to weave her admiration more tightly with subtlety, and in the process lost the leash on her dancing tongue. "Does it bother you knowing I want to kiss you?"

Naomi's feet thwarted their stroll as she embarrassingly almost stumbled to a halt. Trying to hide her mortifying mistake, Naomi let out a strangled laugh, which honestly sounded more like a bleating guffaw. Emily in kind couldn't help but giggle, although the woman was trying to be polite and did her best to hold most of it in. With a playful roll of her eyes, Naomi plopped down onto an adjacent sun chair with a grumbled, "So much for decorum," and was remarkably pleased when Emily sat adjacent to her. Folding her hands atop one another she wrung her fingers together. Once again, she was pleasantly surprised at Emily's proximity as the other woman's hand lightly draped across the warmer part of her knee, the back of her fingers skimming the tops of Naomi's. It took a stilling breath, but finally, looking into Emily's eyes she found nothing but unfaltering truth behind them, and braved her next thought. "So you...you're what they call..."

"I think queer is the general term...and, yes." Naomi smiled, leaning in a bit closer as she asked,

"But that's not like...I mean how do you...it's not a real thing is it, sex between two women I mean one of you hasn't even got a-"

"A cock? And that's worked for you before, has it? " Emily cut right to the chase, the supposed-filthy word rolling off her tongue with a nonchalant ease. She watched Naomi's reaction with a particular interest, curious for a glimpse into what possible competition Fredrick McClair could pose. By the thoughtful acceptance on Naomi's face, Emily guessed very little. Outside of a small fortune, anyway.

Sobering up at the reality, Emily chewed at her bottom lip in thought , choosing this time to look out at the water. "It's very real. You just . . . do what you do to yourself, only to each other. There's a few more limbs, a lot more moaning and sometimes there's even oils and stuff."

Naomi's lip upturned the tiniest bit as she coyly inquired, "Oils eh?" Emily's smile grew wider as Naomi played right into the joke.

"Yeah. And stuff." Emily's reply was met with a burst of laughter. The symphony of the mixture of Emily's husky humor with her own made Naomi's heart flutter. Flutter so hard in fact that she needed something tangible between her fingers, otherwise she was certain they would end up back in Emily's hair. _Only slightly more aggressively this time_.

Peeling open the cover of Emily's sketch book she was really rather surprised that the smaller girl did not make an attempt to stop her from gazing on the gorgeous charcoal sketches but instead seemed to welcome Naomi's perusal. "Emily these are...these are good...very good..." She paused when she landed on a drawing of the torso of a naked, ravishing woman. She appeared to be about Naomi's age, but the hallow of her eyes suggested a worldly wise effervescence that radiated into the viewer's own from the page. _This is how she must have looked at Emily . For hours. _ "One of your lovers I presume," she said continuing to marvel at Emily's technique while simultaneously trying to hide her rising jealousy.

Emily smiled faintly at the memory of the evening behind the sketch, a smile that grew just the slightest as Naomi's eyes remained transfixed on the page. "Paris, two years ago. We were passing ships in the night. I was starving, she was lonely, so she took me in and fed me for the cost of my company. We nourished each other for two weeks of stationary bliss. Nothing existed outside of the walls of her estate. Or rather, her chambers, honestly. I had just started falling in love with her when she packed me a suitcase and told me to leave; her husband would be home later in the evening, back from business in Bulgaria. I drew her every night of those two weeks . . . but she only ever wanted to be charcoal to me. Some marks on a page to be revisited in nostalgia. She was the closest I've been to love."

Naomi's head sprang from the spell the drawing had cast the minute Emily had uttered the word, 'love.' She spent a handful of moments examining the woman's soft features and when she finally found her voice it was rather small as, to her astonished surprise, she found herself voicing the resonance of her thoughts. "You loved her?"

"Could have loved," Emily corrected, looking at Naomi from the corner of her eye. "It was confusing then. I was living my life, finally. The way -I- wanted to. No mother making me presentable for any man who owned more acres than us. No sister insistent on sewing me to her feet like a shadow. I was poor and homeless and starving half the time, but god was I alive. Really, truly alive." Emily's eyes marveled at the vastness of the sea and sky, just as wide and just as wild as Paris' countryside had been, untouched by men and iron. "When I met Delphine, I wasn't ready to give up my freedom. She was magnetic . . . deep . . . but she was one person in a world of literally millions I had sworn to see. If I learned anything then . . . it's that I shouldn't have wasted time trying to figure out what it all meant when I would look at her and have everything else fall away. She wasn't destroying my dream. She was rewriting it." Shuffling the bill of her hat in the clutch of her hands, Emily sat up, rolling her shoulders as if sloughing off the weight of her past. Reaching across Naomi's lap, keeping a respectful posture as she did so, Emily turned the next few dozen pages forward in the sketchbook, smoothing the parchment down before retracting her arm.

"I saw you yesterday, before you decided you liked the other side of the rails," Emily ribbed cautiously, uncertain how to read Naomi's sudden quietness and hoping at the very least she did not offend. The sketch opened before them was of Naomi, looking out and away from the conglomeration of people-shaped silhouettes behind her. Her gloved hands wrung at the the railing at her waist, anchoring her in body where they failed to anchor her in spirit, eyes lost in an introspective void. "I was hoping to sketch another, perhaps a little less sorrowful."

Naomi surveyed the drawing of her. All of the photographs she owned included Fredrick. Or her mother. Or a father long absent. And there certainly wasn't a still life which captured every subtle, finite detail of her face, of her shoulders, of her back in such a way that when it all hit against the stillness of the slightly yellowed parchment, Naomi felt more permanent in the world than she ever had before this very moment. She could literally feel her heart expanding and contracting in her chest. It was vastly overwhelming. It was all because of the woman at her side. Closing the booklet atop her lap she stood and requested, "Follow me?" Hoping the simple appeal would be enough, she was thrilled when she heard the already familiar sound of Emily's footsteps echo behind her. She neared a tiny corridor, shaded from all of the strolling passengers. Once they were utterly cloaked in secret Naomi could resist the urge no longer. Desperately needing to know what those lips tasted like, she tugged Emily flushed against her by the sheer spring of the suspender straps on the smaller girl's shoulders and clasped her lips to those of the woman in her arms. Her head swam, her breathing became erratic, and Emily's hands, though smaller than she was accustomed to, were more bracing and gentle than any that had ever touched her. After a few seconds Naomi eased away, her hooded gaze peering into Emily's eyes which were filled with wonderful confusion. "Now you no longer have to wonder," she whispered, her voice an octave below her natural tone. Emily stood before her grinning and silent. "Say something," Naomi quietly bade, hoping that her bracing gesture had not been utterly out of turn, and would be ultimately rejected.

Cradling Naomi's cheek in her palm, Emily trailed her fingertips up into the woman's hairline, brushing the unkempt strands that had fallen in her sudden fit of passion back into place. She wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, but she had known this feeling before. At least a shade of it. With Naomi, it was tenfold, instantaneous . . . and now that she was acting on it, suddenly corporeal. Her smile slowly faded into a pensive purse of her lips. "Do you love him?" Emily asked, tone gentle and absent of accusation, yet hesitant none the less. "Freddie." She frowned, disliking the familiarity the casual pet name implied when truly the man was no more than a reminder of a Mrs. McClair on the horizon. Not wanting his name to be the last sound in her ears, she asked again, "Do you love him?"

Naomi's hands tenderly removed Emily's own from her face. She admittedly had wanted, hoped, for something a bit more gallant or romantic or...spontaneous to come from the woman's mouth at her own insistence that Emily speak. Instead there was now this mountenous question which led her down a road of rocky, numerous doubts. Doubts which, truthfully, had always been ever present in her mind, but if they were ever uttered aloud... "You shouldn't be asking me this, Emily-"

"Do..." Emily sighed and insistently asked again, "...do you love him?" Naomi could see herself reflected in Emily's eyes, and both her reflection and Emily herself were understandably tense for Naomi's reply. Were it anyone else, she would have called them any number of things to send them away in a bluster, but that was an impossible, temporary wish. As the seconds ticked away, Naomi could feel Emily's question grapple with her stubborn subconscious and with a firm yank bring her cataclysmic, dire truth out into the open. And once it was bare in her mind's eye, she knew it would be impossible to lie. Emily would know if she did.

"Freddie and I's arrangement is not one based on love...no..." was her final answer. A tiny laugh passed through Naomi's lips and slowly began to grow. Emily looked on curiously as Naomi's head rolled back, allowing her body the full exposure to the releasing sensations accompanied by her momentary hysteria. Finally, after a few moments, words became a surmountable feat as she grinned back at Emily. "Oh my god, I've never said that aloud before it's so-so freeing,'" Naomi made her way back out into the setting sun, catching herself on the railing and feeling the misty wind press into her face, "Almost like flying," she added wistfully before she turned back over her shoulder, beaming at the rather stunned, smaller woman behind her. "Am I completely mad? Or is it just what you inspire in me, Emily Fitch?"

"You're not mad," Emily replied rather ambiguously, walking the few paces separating them to lean her arms over the railing. She squinted in the crisp, whipping wind before turning her scrunched face against it to look on at Naomi, her smile returning. "You're just gay." She shoved Naomi's shoulder playfully, leaving it up to the aristocrat to choose her definition.

Naomi gnawed on the bottom corner of her lip as she peered down at Emily. In the languidly dipping sun, the way Emily's lush tendrils brushed against her tattered clothing made the two seem completely out of place from one another. On the one hand she was born without name or title, and yet she still managed to capture and ensnare every sense of Naomi's being. In an hour at best, Naomi's chains had loosened, and like Icarus, she was certain she could now soared more freely now than in any of the days she had withstood before the travelling artist had ventured into her life. Reaching a hand out toward Emily's chin she began to bring their lips willingly together yet again-until she heard a familiar voice called from the other end of the deck.

"Naomi, sweetheart there you are!" Naomi flew back from Emily, only now feeling twice the guilt she had the last time they had been ensnared in an intimate moment. Her mother, along with two other women unrecognizable to her, theatrically waved as she approached. None of them looked in any state of shock, so Naomi gathered she and Emily had not been suspected of anything, although had they arrived on their end of the deck moments later, there would have been no telling the sight their eyes would have beheld.

Trying to dash the flustering ideas from her mind, Naomi succumbed to her breeding instinct, and approached her mother with a kiss on the older woman's cheek.

"Hello mother," she said as cheerily as she possibly could manage despite the entirety of her body shaking so badly she was certain she was in the midst of an earthquake instead of atop the Atlantic.

"Hello mother and a kiss? That's certainly peculiar behavior for you, Naomi, are you all right? Has this young woman startled you in any way?" Gina gave Naomi a teasing push before she extended a hand toward the woman whom Naomi was both thrilled and mortified to find still remaining exactly where Naomi had left her. _Yep_. _Guilt. __**So**__ much guilt._ "You must be Emily, darling, I've already heard so much about you, and thank you ever so for protecting my silly daughter from clumsily tossing herself to a watery grave." The women who were escorting Gina about the deck cleared their throats, both looking a bit shocked at Gina's description of Naomi's plight before Gina merely continued, "I heard you will be joining us for dinner. I cannot wait to get better acquainted, see you then Emily dearest..." Leaning in closer she added with a whisper only her daughter and the young woman could hear, "...she loves red, wear red."

"Mother!" Naomi practically screeched, certain her face was as pink as the sunset.

"Off I pop then, toodle-oo, Emily," Gina said, tossing a flippant hand wave over her shoulder before disappearing with her seemingly uptight friends.

Naomi gawked at the tail end of her mother's exceptionally ill timed interruption before turning back to Emily who was turning red as her cheeks looked to explode from the laughter she had clearly been trying to hide for the last several seconds. Naomi gave Emily a playful shove before she nodded in their direction, allowing Emily a few moments to wallow in the eruption that followed. Her sour expression brightened at the contagious sound, and another shove, perhaps a bit less playful followed, along with a mock 'ow!' from Naomi's assailant. "Perhaps I better go dress. I can't be seen in these old togs now can I?"

"No, of course not. " Emily's still-giggly tone bordered patronizing, giving Naomi an obvious once-over before her eyes anchored back in the sparkling waters of Naomi's irises. Emily hadn't a clue what Naomi was fussing about. The woman need not wear a thing with eyes that radiant, but she supposed polite society would beg to differ.

Stuffing her hands in her trouser pockets, Emily glanced back behind her to locate the sketchbook that had been left abandoned in Naomi's urgency. "I should pick that up before someone gets to it," she mumbled, teetering on whether or not to . . . deciding for it, she approached Naomi slowly, hands still in her pockets, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss upon her cheek. As she withdrew, she could not help but add, a small curl in the corner of her lip as she whispered, "So, scarlet or more of a maroon?"

Unable to restrain herself against the sensation of Emily's close proximity, Naomi's head turned and she pressed her lips to Emily's again. In the open. Damning anyone who would dare find her. Of course she didn't pull her close. Like she wanted to. She didn't wrap her fingers in her hair. Like she wanted to. She didn't push her tongue-breaking the kiss Naomi took a few steps back, her face breaking into a smile as she continued to walk backward and hold the gaze which was starry in a sunset sky. "I look forward to dinner, Emily," she said in parting before turning on her heel and heading back toward her now looming state room.

Lips still tingling from the press of Naomi's own, Emily turned on her heels only after Naomi had disappeared from view, bending down to scoop up her sketchbook as she ambled past it. She fingered the key in her pocket and hoped to her lucky lady Titanic that the door it belonged to held a red dress behind it.

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_**Ch. 5 Post Date: 3/14**_


	5. April 13th 1912 5:05 PM

**Author's Note (ItFeelsSoWrite): It's Saturday again! As always, thank you for your reads and reviews. We're heading into both familiar and unfamiliar territory with this chapter, so we hope you enjoy our twist on the original. Also, begin to expect more frequent updates as the story gets rolling. Post dates in the footnotes. Enjoy and let us know your thoughts!**

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**04/13/1912 5:05 P.M.**

"You stole the key to the entire first class baggage compartment," Emily stated with a dry awe, eyes widening as Cook slipped the key into the lock without a hitch. She thought that he'd been pulling her leg bringing her down all this way, but as the tumblers aligned and gave with a click, there was no denying the scruffy thief knew a thing or two about payoff.

"It's th'perfect crime," Cook bragged as he swung the door open, giving Emily right of way with a grand sweep of his arms inward. "S'long as we put most everyfin' back where it belongs, no one'll know they've been burgled 'til we're off th'boat. Get lookin' Emilio. Bestin we're outta 'ere soon as possible."

In complete agreeance, Emily wasted no time in taking his invitation, looking about in the limited light until Cook shut the door behind them. A row of portholes lining the starboard wall of the ship as well as about two dozen or so bulbs overhead kept them from navigating in complete pitch, but most everything was reduced to silhouettes, cast in the shadows of the massive mountains of crates and luggage.

All manners of storage containers filled the room's floor - wooden crates, one-of-a-kind Louis Vuitton luggage cases, burlap sacks and portmanteaus of all qualities and shades. Nestled further in, given a respectible birth, there was even a gorgeous Renault Coupe de Ville whose flawless paintjob and nearly-pristine white tires suggested its first real drive would be taken in America.

Cook rummaged through any suitcase he could find without a lock and within reasonable reach, mindful to choose ones that looked ridiculously opulent amongst the others. Emily was considerably more choosy, passing prime luggage as if it were trash, all the while keeping her eyes open for . . .

Emily slowed her paced stroll to a stop as her eyes fell on the chestnut wardrobe before her. With carved filigree borders and glass-pane inlays decorating the double doors, it almost felt a crime to lay a finger on it, but more unforgiveable than that would be to arrive in Naomi's company looking like the piteous leech their company would assume her to be. At least for an evening, Emily did not want to fight the world, but to become the envy of it. And no one envied years-old cotton and wool.

Trying the handle, Emily's heart soared as it gave with little else than a tug. Curling her fingers past the small sliver of an opening, Emily swung both doors open in tandem, eyes and mouth rounding in impressed circles as she gasped at the gowns within.

"All the bobbles and gems in the world, and you snuff out fifty pounds a'dresses?" Cook asked curiously, turning the pocketwatch in his palm front to back to front again in search of any personalized engraving as he joined Emily to see what had elicited her wonderment.

"I need something to wear tonight. Something first class. Something . . . stunning." Diving into the wardrobe, Emily rummaged through the sea of clothing, squinting hard in the dim light to pick up any flecks of red. Her hand fell on a fine velvet piece, arguably a plum red, perhaps wine red . . . Emily unsnagged it from the beads and ivory buttons of the dress suit behind it, pulling it out for Cook to see. "What color is this?"

"Nah. Put it back," was Cook's almost immediate reply. Emily frowned, stepping out of the wardrobe to discover its hue for herself before Cook pocketed his new watch and stepped forward to return the dress from whence it came. "Don't waste yer time. How'd'ja expeck t'dance in somefin' like thah? Y'need an evenin' dress. Somefin' like . . ." he petered off in his shuffle around the wardrobe, leaving the silent air open for Emily to ask,

"Who said I was dancing?"

Nearly arm-deep in fabric with clothes any which way he turned, Cook did his best to throw his muffled voice back to Emily, grunting for the effort. "I do. There's a pah'y t'night in the 3rd class promenade. Y'should bring yer first class lass- 'old on, I've got joos' the one."

Before he could retract with his finding, Emily added as a rushing afterthought, "It has to be red!", to which Cook clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, muttering an "or not" before returning halfway into Narnia.

"First rounda beers is on me iffin y'coom," Cook put the offer on the table, rummaging some more before thumping the back of the wardrobe with a victorious whoop. "This is whot y'want," Cook crowed confidently, wrestling the dress from underneath the weight of the others until it was free of the wardrobe. Raising his arm above his head to show off the length and flow of the garment, Emily could hardly believe her luck. She could just barely begin to make out the more intricate patterns of the rose-tinted mesh overlay before the dress was flung into her unexpecting arms, leaving Cook free to leap down from the adjacent crates and race away.

"Wha- Where are you going?"

"Knickin' ya soom bloomers!"

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From where she stood at the far end of the balcony just above the entrance to the dining room, Naomi could hear the orchestra vivaciously playing "Alexander's Ragtime Band" to herald in all of the guests for their evening meal. She tugged the tips of her gloves as she walked the length of the hallway trepidatiously, her heart hammering in her chest with each step she took. She had heard the light husk of Emily's voice radiate in time with Fredrick's only moments ago, and her nerves were getting the best of her for some unknown reason as she glided down the first ring of the grandiose double staircase. Each footfall swished against the soft beading which traced the hem of her deep emerald dress against the floor. And each stride brought her closer and closer to the pair which awaited her below.

Her eyes caught Fredrick first out of sheer instinct. Which was all really rather well and good considering had she been looking at Emily directly when she took the first few steps the uneven platforms, she would have misjudged the width and the depth below her and would have stumbled into the sea of people. It was rather perfect then that as she neared the center of the staircase Fredrick's eyes turned Emily toward Naomi's entrance as the young woman practically pirouetted over her shoulder. Both were struck breathless at one another.

Even from the few feet away, Naomi could practically feel Emily's blood begin to race because she noted the exact same sensations rushing down from her head to her wrists and every other part of her being. The sound of the orchestra faded into a hum, Fredrick was all but a phantom, there was only Emily before her who now took a step forward, her brown eyes bursting with flecks of gold which gently lit her porcelain features amongst the gorgeous gown she had procured. The front of the bodice gave little ease to Naomi's swimming imagination as the square cut of the front did not detract from but certainly didn't hide Emily's proportional cleavage. As she gently raised a hand toward Naomi the light silk of the sheer red sleeves complimented themselves all the way down through the lining of the soft dress.

Naomi took Emily's hand for the final few steps, taking a second to whisper with a cheeky husk, "However did you manage to smuggle that away?" before she felt Fredrick's arm clutch her closely to his shoulder.

"It would be an honor to accompany you both," Fredrick interrupted, his best, finely pressed black tuxedo doing not one thing comparatively for Naomi's libido as she was unwillingly dragged away from the other woman's touch. Emily smiled and took the other elbow being offered to her by Naomi's fiance, Naomi admiring the fact that she could act the lady's part when her fiance was toting them both through the pristine doors as if he were the one who had just struck the luckiest of deals by having them both at his side. Naomi's eyes, however, could not comprehend one word said to her as she kept glancing over at Emily, hoping and praying that any moment they would be left alone just for a-

"Freddie, dear, would you escort me to my table? I seem to be completely lost amongst all this chattle," a brougish voice broke in through Naomi's thoughts. _Molly Brown to my rescue, thank god, _Naomi thought as she practically shoved Fredrick into the older woman's arms.

"Be a gentleman, dear, and do as she asks, hm? I think Emily and I can find our seats," Naomi said in a rushed breath as Molly quickly and insistently pulled Fredrick off into the mass of gowns and tuxedos...and Naomi and Emily were finally able to pair off together. Though they stood only inches apart now, Naomi cursed the distance and separation which had to remain as such for fear of attracting any unwanted attention.

"So did you manage to steal anything of value, or are gowns a particular favorites of yours?" Naomi asked with an upturned smile which was already pushing itself into a blush as she continued with another alluring thought, "And I imagine there are bloomers under there as well, otherwise you paint yourself an interesting charade there Miss Fitch."

"Bloomers and a chemise, both not mine," Emily bemoaned through a sitting smile, making absolute sure to look nothing but in place, which served difficult with the lack of jewelry adorning her naked chest and ears. She could feel eyes linger at her back, nearly see them in the corner of her own, but it was herself that whispered the scathing words she imagined them saying. She needed to imagine something else. Something . . . her eyes trailed up the sheer black, beaded hemming of Naomi's dress up into the emerald of the bodice before settling on the gently quickened pulse of Naomi's very bare neck. If she observed the contours of Naomi's body, the way her clavicles dipped into long, but narrow shoulders, how her dress clung and hung from the dip of her breasts, the points of contact as she shifted her weight from one hip to the other, she could practically decipher the lay of Naomi's body underneath. And in that moment, gown bandit seemed an entirely legitimate calling card, granted she could be there for the undressing.

"What do I do? For a living?" Emily asked as the question dawned on her, now fearful that the next words out of her mouth would betray her previous train of thought. She did her best to ignore the blush on both their cheeks, a sense of urgency made stronger by the slow, but quickening migration of people to their seats driving her need to know. All the while, the gown bandit in her head went over every exacting step of the heist of one emerald gown with black bead lace.

"They won't ask," Naomi insisted, as she took Emily's arm, cursing and thankful for the gloves for the very first time since she was made to wear them as a child. "You're an unescorted young woman. They'll assume you're someone's mistress and ignore you unless they are spoken to. It's impolite to pry outside the confines of gossip, but then again, we might have my mother for that." As if right on cue, Gina stepped up toward the pair and immediately carted Emily away from Naomi so fast, Naomi was certain at any moment she'd step on the train of her own dress with how off balance she felt without the Emily sized dip in her arm.

"You just come right on over and sit next to me, Emily, I insist. I really admire that gown, it looks simply ravishing on you, and I'm glad to see you followed my advice." Naomi's cheeks, she was certain, were the color of the front of Emily's bodice. Much to her chagrin, Gina had placed Emily on her opposite side, leaving herself in the middle and Naomi scrunched up against...Fredrick who appeared like a ghost in the night to pull Naomi's chair out from under her.

_Wonderful, now I'll have to work at stealing glances all throughout dinner._

As for Emily, the poor thing looked petrified at first when she saw how much silverware she had to use, but eventually she just sort of picked her way through, Gina coaxing her here and there. The beginnings of the dinner chatter amongst the table stayed within common ground, no one really paying Emily much attention, until finally, apparently unable to keep it to herself during a particularly quiet lull, Gina asked Emily, "So how did you manage to procure yourself onto Titanic, Emily, and do you make it your business to go around rescuing damsels in distress? If that's the sort of adventures one can have in lower class, then I think the minute we dock I will sell all my worldly possessions and travel the world as a nameless Bohemian." The question was grandiose, long enough, and loud enough that everyone at the table raised a keen ear toward Emily...who was just now taking a fine swallow of her water.

"Emily is an artist," Naomi jumped in, "I've seen some of her work, it's absolutely tremendous." Naomi's voice was filled with pride and Emily's smile reflected her gratitude at Naomi's praise.

"Naomi and I differ in our tastes in art," Fredrick interrupted, one who can always be counted on to keep the ball rolling in a particularly springy manner.

"Oh you hush now, Freddie," Gina insisted, "where did you study Emily?"

"Paris," Emily blurted, wanting to answer quickly and in doing so, quickly forgetting that she knew of none of the prestigious art schools therein. Hoping the seemingly American-British majority at the table knew very little of French education themselves, Emily bolstered her half-truth with another to strengthen the alibi. "I studied at the Cormier school of art before taking my talent and studies abroad. My newest teacher is your fine ship, Mr. Andrews. I've drawn few finer forms than she possesses." The table rumbled in soft sounds of agreement, filling Emily with a rush of confidence. Sitting just the slightest bit straighter, she almost felt like she could reach for her spoon without second-guessing whether or not to sip soup or stir her tea with it before a waiter appeared above her shoulder presenting her with a silver-domed dish.

"Caviar, ma'am?" He asked as he removed the lid. Emily tried her best to hide the immediate disgust at the black, goopy mass before averting her eyes to the waiter with a polite smile.

"No caviar, please. I prefer my fish grown," Emily said innocently enough, but it was clear by the choking cough behind her that Naomi's mind was hardly such. Returning her attention to the table, she lifted her champagne glass to her lips, stealing a side-long glance at Naomi as she did so.

"She's delightful, Naomi, wherever did you find her," Gina asked, leaning in and speaking so that only Naomi, and apparently, Emily could overhear. Naomi tried her best to obscure the size of her smile behind a wipe of her napkin, but her eyes betrayed her lusty thoughts directed to thee woman beside her mother. Emily's stare seemed to be just as telling, and suddenly Naomi could see far, far into the future and a dinner table set somewhere else in New York at a simple flat with bare essentials, yet two deliriously happy young women in love...and her mother dressed in Bohemian togs...the thought of her mother stirred Naomi to forget the fantasy as she picked up the glass in front of her and begged her mind not to wander into what could be if they ever lost any of the finances needed to help keep her mother in good health.

"I've been wondering the same," Naomi finally replied her smile having no trouble veering away from the farthest length of her lips.

"And you find that sort of lifestyle intriguing, do you, Emily?" a random voice belonging to a thin lipped, half stitch of a woman whom, if she sat up any straighter, could be Titanic's brand new flag mast spoke. "Galavanting around from one place to the other, no sense of security, no grounded future for you and your future progeny?" Naomi, and even Fredrick, balked at the woman's audacity. Naomi's neck practically craned toward Emily, hoping she would find the correct words to save Emily's pride. But Emily merely offered up a slow, contented smile as she leaned forward in her chair to respond.

"Actually, I do. If I'm being honest, taking style out of living leaves a lot more room for the living part. I love waking up in the morning, not knowing who I'm going to meet. Where I'm going to wind up. You think you've seen the best of everything, and then you open your eyes to a brand new day and see how very wrong you were. Two years ago I was in Paris, drinking the finest wine, sketching illustrious faces. Now I'm looking at faces far more suited for the history books, and it turns out I prefer champagne," Emily tipped her glass in the general direction of the table's guest, reflecting their engaging smiles with her own before lifting her glass above her for a refill. It was taken and returned to her fingertips within seconds and in that same time, the nag that had challenged Emily's presence at the table fired another round of ammunition.

"You'd best to prefer what your husband provides."

Drawing out the sip of her champagne to stall, Emily tried and failed to quell her temper, the alcohol having the reverse effect in dampening her inner dialogue. "I supposed it'd be best if I preferred a husband then, too, wouldn't it?" There was no jovial approval to follow this time, but the silence gave Emily the second she needed to amend with, "I'm a woman married to my work."

Emily's unintentional teeth-baring held to be enough of an aegis against further inquiries as the rotation of discussion shifted onto Fredrick and his plans for the company in the absence of his father. Emily felt afloat still, but just barely, the air in her alter-ego deflating with her barbed outburst. She feared if she sat for too much longer with an endless glass of champagne that the people beside her would spring blurry twins. It was best to leave now, while they still held her in some regard above sea level.

Taking the napkin from her lap and placing it upon the table, Emily leaned in to Gina's ear, murmuring just loudly enough for Naomi's ear to prick with her words as well, "Is there someplace I could wash up? The champagne is going straight to my head."

"I'll show you," Naomi insisted, downing the rest of her full champagne flute in one swallow as she stood, tapping Emily's shoulder for her to follow. Every man at the table moved to stand but Naomi raised her hand politely, indicating they should remain seated, before she led the way toward the wash room. Her ears had been flushed all evening, and during Emily's stirring speech she found that her head was a tidal wave of words, and urges to do "other things" as well.

She waited until they were inside, before she checked and listened at all the doors in kind to make sure they were alone. The minute she was certain they would not be disturbed Naomi practically charged toward the smaller girl, wrapping her hands around her waist, pulling her close, and kissing her deeply. Kissing her like she never kissed Freddie. Kissing her like the very air she needed was in Emily's lungs and she needed to draw it out. Their fabric mangled and tangled as Emily embraced her in closer.

After a few seconds, eyes still closed and head spinning, Naomi's asked before the courage fled her, "Can we go somewhere?"

"Where?"

Naomi's eyes slowly opened to see Emily's filled with nothing but utter delight. "Anywhere," was Naomi's firm and excited answer. _Dinner be damned, like I'll be missed_. Lacing Naomi's hand with hers, Emily asked with an impish smile,

"Do you want to go to a _real _party?"

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_**Ch. 6 Post Date: 3/18**_


	6. April 13th 1912 9:00 PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): Over 2/3 of the lives lost on the RMS Titanic were 3rd class passengers. In this chapter, we hope to, in some way, remember and celebrate the very real life memory of those people. To momentarily remove ourselves from the tragedy, to touch upon the joy which must have been felt amongst these people as they began their hopeful and joyous trip to America. Yes, this is ultimately a fictional recreation, but it is our hope, that for a moment, maybe the bagpipes and drums will let their hearts, as the cliche goes, go on...**

**(ItFeelsSoWrite): Hello again! And welcome to our first not-Saturday chapter! We're picking up the pace, but I have a feeling you won't mind. Thank you to all that read and review as always and a special thank you to whykay91 and TheAeacusProject for always meeting us blow for blow in terms of chapters to reviews. It's always nice to look forward to your thoughts!**

**I'm going to assume the rest of you were busy getting popcorn for this next chapter. And who could blame you? It's a party! It's a dance! It's Naomily!**

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**04/13/1912 9:00 P.M.**

Naomi's skin was alight with Emily's touch as she was spirited away to C deck, where sounds of loud cheering, stomping, drums and bagpipes were peeling the paint off of the ships walls with the beat of their gusto. Suddenly feeling a tug of nerves hit her, she yanked her hand free from Emily's and stopped mid stride. She stared down the length of the hall which would be an escape into a world she had admittedly always wanted to explore, but always figured would be nothing more than a fantasy. There would be no repercussions because it would never be something that could happen.

But consequences became flesh in Emily Fitch...so many amazing and terrifying consequences. Emily had halted the minute Naomi's fingertips fell from hers and turned back, concern in her eyes. "Do you want to go back up?" Emily's hand wasn't outstretched, there was no expectation. With Emily, Naomi was free to do as she pleased, no pretense was necessary. It was all Naomi's decision.

_My choice_.

"No," she said finally, picking up the hem of her dress and pulling Emily down the hallway this time, her nostrils hit by booze and smoke and her ears hit with the loudest, happiest, most boisterous music she'd ever heard as the pair practically slammed into a man carrying two beers in each hand.

"What?! Drink! No drinks! Here! Drinks!" he crowed with a thick Ukrainian accent, shoving two full mugs into Naomi and Emily's hands. Emily laughed and began sipping at hers, but Naomi brought the glass to her lips and began to chug where she stood...and chug...and chug...and chug. When she finally came up for air, feeling a lot less nervous about her current surroundings, she found Emily gawking at her with an impressed smile plastered across her adorable face.

"What?" Naomi asked cheekily, already enjoying the loopy sensations the buzzing hops began to elicit about her head. "Didn't think a first class girl could drink?"

"You've got a little mustache," Emily mused, pointing vaguely at her own lips as a diagram, giggling the longer Naomi's fingertips tried and failed to swipe away the foam. "Here," she insisted after a beat, running her thumb along the Cupid's bow dip of Naomi's lips before popping it in her mouth to suck it clean.

The dilation of Naomi's eyes at her touch had hardly gone unnoticed, but Cook's boisterous entrance prevented her from acting on it as he swung an arm around her shoulder and used her as a crutch. A crutch with legs and breasts that he was just now noticing as he pinched the fabric of her mesh sleeves between his fingers.

"Emilio! Or should I say Emily. Y'clean up good, girlie. And does the first class lass 'ave a name?"

"Naomi, this is Cook. He, uh . . . helped procure my dress."

"Y'like? She said it 'ad to be red. S'that cuz'a you?" Cook asked curiously, feeling out the first-class aristrocrat, eyeing her jewelry and curves with equal appreciation.

Emily sloughed him off her shoulder, rolling her eyes with a smile as she introduced, "Cook. Naomi. It looks like her beer is empty. Aren't you buying?"

"Y'keep a man honest," Cook scoffed, but grinned all the same, giving a sloppy at-the-waist bow to Naomi before making a bee-line to the barrels lining the back wall.

"He's harmless," Emily reassured, taking a long chug from her mug for the road before placing it on the nearest table. "But I won't be if he steals your first dance." Offering an upturned palm, Emily cast a side-long glance at the couples already in full swing, nothing but blurs, footwork and flourishing skirts. "We could wait for something slower," she teased, delighting in the umbrage her provocation sparked in Naomi's eyes.

Clasping her palm firmly in Emily's grasp, Naomi tugged at the smaller girl's arm as she led them toward the mass of dancers. Each couple was pressed close, bodies swirling in circles as they turned in time to the drums and bagpipes. Nearly being knocked right into swing, Naomi gathered Emily close to her chest as she called loudly over the music, "See if you can keep up!" before she began to twirl Emily quickly across the floor.

It was a bit difficult trying to avoid the fringe of two sets of dresses moving together, but apart from the occasional trip, Naomi eased into a euphoric state of freedom in the presses of Emily's hands...in the synchronized sway of her head and hips, and in the laughing cheers which elicited out of her lips brought Naomi higher and higher from where she flew.

_With her I have wings...it's terrifying...and everything I could have dreamed..._

Unable to discern heartbeat from drumbeat, all Emily knew for sure was that both were pounding. Naomi moved with a finesse she hadn't pegged the woman to own, which seemed silly in retrospect. As if the Titanic hadn't been surprise enough on her horizon, Naomi was full of them, tossing each like breadcrumbs, one at a time for Emily to follow until she was lost in the somehow-familiar stranger with nary the will to go back.

Admittedly winded, Emily leaned into Naomi's ear, still managing to be nearly drowned out by the din despite speaking up, "You win, I need a breather. I'm beat."

"Not yet you aren't," Emily heard Naomi fire back, breathless but alive, as she pulled back from her ear. When she met Naomi's eyes, her blue irises redirected their gazes to one of a handful of raised platforms speckling the room. Each drew a small crowd that clapped in time to the music, encouraging the featured dancers atop with whoops and whistles. Before Emily could insist she wet her throat first, Naomi's hand was in hers again, pulling her with vigor towards the nearest unpopulated spotlight stage.

The boards beneath their feet echoed hollowly and Emily couldn't help but notice the springiness of the planks, rocking back on her heels as she acclimated to the new floor. Naomi alloted no such time for familiarity, finally swept away in the whirlwind of it all. Kicking off her heels, she tossed them into the waiting crowd and hiked her skirt just above her knees before letting loose fast and clean footwork in time to the music.

Emily was so entranced by the sheer skill and abandon of Naomi's movements that by the time Naomi passed her the proverbial puck, it took the rambunctious chorus of "Dance! Dance! Dance!" for Emily to remember where she was. Following Naomi's lead, she hiked up her skirt and began to tackle some of the simpler moves she had seen Naomi pound against the floorboards. Smiling genuinely at the attempt, Naomi mirrored Emily, feeding her the steps in half-time until Emily could find a groove and run with it.

Eventually their feet moved back and forth like a game of ping pong, passing the beat back and forth from their stocking feet as they hit the ground in fluid continuous movements. The crowd cheered the pair on wildly until Naomi, emboldened by the sheer roar of the crowd, latched Emily's hands in her own. Using herself like a pendulum she began to swing them, arms outstretched into a crazy, spinning circle, still perfectly in time with the music. Emily's mouth opened and closed several times as she spun in this whirlwind with Naomi.

The crowd around them blurred as Naomi's vision saw nothing but the laughing, jovial woman in front of her. Everything and everyone remained out of focus so that once again, the tiny young artist was all the Naomi could see. Releasing her own laugh, Naomi could feel their fingers start to slip, but Emily's hands were swift and soon they tightened again, shifting with Naomi's so that they remained entertwined, completely unable to go anywhere without the other. It was a delicious euphoria which Naomi had never experienced.

As the song neared it's conclusion and the pair began to slow, the dizziness set into Naomi's head quickly, so much so that she was certain the moment she stopped she would pass out. But it was not to be so...

...just as she was about to fall, she felt Emily's arms around her. An ambitious move to be sure, though no one seemed to have batted a single eye at the two women who were dancing together in the unison of every opposite gendered couple in the room. Emily used Naomi's momentum to lower her into a slow dip which was somehow more graceful and elegant than any Naomi had experienced with a man. Emily looked momentarily panicked, as if she were certain she'd drop her, but Naomi had not been afraid for even a second. And as soon as that shock subsided, Emily's features softened as she recognized and knew the truth behind Naomi's gaze in that moment...

_I trust you. Completely._

* * *

Emily and Naomi spilled up onto the deck from the stairwell, both in the tail-end of a shared fit of laughter brought on by the regaling of Cook's gradual loss of clothes throughout the night. Still clutching his shirt in her fist, Emily offered it to Naomi with an outstretched arm and an encouraging, "You should keep it. I bet you'd look really good in it."

Naomi gave a thoughtful smile as she entertained the small rebellion, but the more she looked at it, the more she realized she knew it from her younger days, before Freddie became Fredrick. It had been his make of shirt, too. With a polite shake of her head, she curled Emily's fingers back over the fabric with her own and pressed it back into Emily's chest.

"Tell your friend he needs to learn to keep his clothes on. No matter how appetizing he thinks his bare chest is." The two exchanged a quiet laugh as Naomi surveyed the A deck, and seeing no one approach, pulled Emily toward her with the spring of her suspenders and sealed lips tightly onto Emily's. Feeling boldness still pressing against her throbbing fingertips, toes...center...she deepened the kiss, knowing it wasn't done in polite society. And not giving a damn. The mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, and something so deliciously Emily acted as an aphrodisiac and suddenly Naomi was desperately wishing there was no fiancé waiting for her in bed. Because she wanted to occupy it with another.

"You like that . . ." Emily rasped from the upturned corner of her lips, which remained somewhat puckered in the memory of the kiss she could not for the life of her recall why she had broken. Remedying her naive error, she pressed her lips to Naomi's again. And again . . . And again. Cook's shirt fell to their feet, momentarily forgotten as Emily's fingertips grazed up into the hairline of Naomi's nape, drawing her ever closer as she flushed her front to Naomi's.

The wind whipped around them in a sudden fitful gust, carrying with it the chill of the heart of the sea. As positively sizzling Naomi's lips proved to be over and over again, neither of them could hide the fact that they were beginning to tremble with something other than a stirring desire. Pulling away, Emily immediately sought Naomi's hand, looking down at them clasped together and continuing to look on as Naomi threaded their fingers.

"Let's get you inside. I can't afford to have you catch your death." Emily started them in the direction of the grand staircase, but kept their pace to a stroll, quickening only when a particularly icy gust of wind spurred them forward in an effort to keep warm. As they neared the dome, Emily allowed her hand to fall from Naomi's. The dangers of being spotted were exponentially higher now, and while Emily wanted nothing more than to go below deck with Naomi, hand in hand all the way, she knew tonight would not have been possible without discretion. And neither would tomorrow if she pushed it.

"I believe this is your stop . . ." Emily said, voice carrying more disappointment than she had meant to reveal. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

Naomi smiled and brushed the tip of her fingertips against the top of Emily's hand. "Meet me in our corner spot, you know the one, tomorrow at noon," Naomi whispered, biting at the corner of her lip wondering if she dared kiss the smaller woman again, but feeling something bigger stirring inside of her as she couldn't help but ask, "Emily...am I...is this...are we-" Closing her eyes and exhaling she composed herself and tried again. "I'm not just another conquest for you, am I? Because for me...I am...at least...I think I might be-"

Emily turned her hand beneath Naomi's until the taller woman's fingertips grazed her palm. Meeting Naomi's eyes and never breaking away, she answered very calmly, very clearly, "We are something I have _never_ known, Naomi. We are . . ." she bit her lip in thought, eyes remaining trained on Naomi's as she searched for the right word. In finding it, her face lit up with an enlightened smile. "We're the Titanic."

In hearing the words leave her mouth, Emily worried momentarily that in her attempt to relieve Naomi's doubt, she may have accelerated too far forward. It had only been twenty-four hours in its entirety, this thing she called 'Titanic', but it may as well have been twenty-four lifetimes. Emily knew Naomi. And Naomi knew Emily, when she let herself acknowledge the gravity drawing them together. Nothing was truer. Nothing was more unsinkable.

Emily gave a relieved, almost giddy lilt of a laugh, nodding her head first slowly, but then more and more assuredly as she repeated, "We're the Titanic."

Knowing now it was an inevitable act, Naomi lowered her lips to Emily's brushing them gently and tenderly with her own, before she whispered softly against them, "A woman's heart is an ocean of secrets." Putting a few more inches between Emily's plump, pink lips and her own she added, "Full speed ahead, Emily." A wry smile swept across her face as she glided through the wide, double doors, out of the breaking, blackened night.

* * *

_**Ch. 7 Post Date: 3/23**_


	7. April 14th 1912 10:13 AM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): "In the midst of all this euphoria, it's kind of hard for us to remember that this success is for a film that's based on a real event that happened, where real people died, that shocked the world in 1912. The message of "Titanic" of course is, that if the great ship can sink, the unthinkable can happen, the future is unknowable, the only thing that we truly own is today. Life is precious." -James Cameron acceptance speech for "Titanic's" win for Best Picture at the 1998 Academy Awards.**

**On this date 17 years ago, the James Cameron film "Titanic" took home 11 of it's 14 statues at the 70th annual Academy Awards. The audience stilled for a solid 5 second of live broadcast air time to remember the lives of the 1,500 souls which were lost on the ocean liner in 1912, something never before done on the program. **

**It is appropriate then, perhaps, that there is another pause on the horizon for the couple at the forefront of this story. But don't worry. This is just the quiet before the storm.**

* * *

**04/14/1912 10:13 A.M.**

There was no sun to spill through her window as she awoke that morning, but with a long, leisurely stretch, Naomi rolled over in bed and stared up at the ceiling. She was smiling, in spite of the fact that she found she was the only occupant of her bed. Smiling because her dreams had been filled with the sounds of drums, and wooden bagpipes, and spinning. Happy, happy spinning...and dipping...

Taking part in an unusually bizarre moment of light humming as she rose from the bed, she practically floated over to her bay screen where her attire of the day had been hung up for her. Removing her nightgown, she lay the soft, silk fabric atop the door before she extracted the corset nearby which would fit beneath the white and blue be-speckled dress. Fredrick had picked it out for her when they were in Venice last month. Observing herself in her vanity mirror as she changed, adjusting each article of undergarment onto her body, her mood somehow seemed to lower more and more. The pantaloons, bloomers, and especially the vise like grip of the corset were each a piece of a costume. A costume for a facade of a life which felt so foreign to her now. By the time she had adjusted the front of the coarse, binding material, her smile had faded back down into a frown, and her mood had completely sombered into introspective dreariness as she curled her hair up on top of her head so that the servant girl could easily access the laces running up her back.

When she heard the knock at the door, she expected to see a short, little girl with red hair dressed in a maid's outfit enter. She was surprised, then, to find her mother on the other side of the open door. "Thought I'd take a turn at lacing you up this morning. Give these old hands a bit of a workout," she said with a cheery smile as she shut them back into the room.

"There's nothing wrong with your hands," Naomi answered calmly, but in spite of what was supposed to be her reassuring words, she couldn't help but notice a slight tremor pass over Gina's hands before her mother shook them and squeezed them, forcing the trembling to cease shortly after it had begun. Naomi swallowed, pushing the image to the back of her mind as she clutched the large bed post in front of her.

The two stood in silence for a few seconds before Gina approached and began to vellicate the thick strings through the tiny brass holes. Naomi's grip tightened the higher up Gina went. As the laces became more and more taut, she shifted her breathing higher and much slower, above the constriction of the corset, and into her chest. The last few pulls strained at the top of the fabric whilst Gina said kindly, in a tone that Naomi rarely heard from her otherwise upbeat if not brow-beaten mother, "Did I ever tell you how angry I was when I found out I was pregnant with you?" A firm yank prevented Naomi from turning her head to give her mother an incredulous look, but she rolled her eyes all the same.

"Sorry about that," Naomi replied dryly. Gina threaded the tight string into a double knot and set about to making sure all the tiny lace was poked in and out of the corset properly to prevent Naomi from experiencing any pain once her dress settled down on top of it.

"I wanted to do so many things," Gina continued, "I was young. Your father was younger. But he treated me well. And he was a decent father for as long as he was alive. And then...things happened. And it was just you and me. Everyone told me I would resent being a single mum, raising you without immediately remarrying. But...I wanted you all to myself. Because in spite of what I thought I had wanted, you made my life wonderful. You gave it meaning." Gina turned her daughter toward her slowly, Naomi's eyes questioning and ears hyper sensitive to what Gina could possibly say next. "I know you feel like you have to marry Fredrick. You need to sustain our way of life, because of me. Because I'm sick. Because...I'm dying-"

"Mum-"

"No, No, Naomi, darling this is important," Gina insisted, "Naomi...the people who make us happy are never the people we expect," Gina's hand stroked the outside of Naomi's face, her fingertips tracing from her brow down to her chin like she used to tenderly do when she was a child, when she was trying to tell Naomi she knew exactly what her daughter was thinking or feeling, when that psychic link between the two of them was unmatched by anyone as she finished, "So when you find someone...you've got to cherish it."

Naomi's eyes grew wide as she searched for the right words to feed to her mother, a response which could explain this odd gravitational shift. But she didn't have a chance. Like was so often the case whenever Naomi was certain there was something dire and immediate that needed to happen or to be said, Gina doubled over in pain, grabbing onto her side, and coughing so profusely that Naomi was certain she was going to pass out.

It took several moments to collect her mother properly. To get her her medicine, some water, and under the covers. With a heavy sigh and forlorn glance down at her mother she whispered, "I suppose you'll be missing lunch then," before her mother's eyes closed and she drifted off into a drug-induced slumber.

After she put her mother to bed, Naomi found Fredrick seated out on the lounge sofa reading through a paper he had procured from the smoking room the evening prior. He looked up at her and smiled from the coffee laced with brandy which had just been at his lips. "You look lovely," he admired, as he stood, folding the paper and placing it upon the gorgeous mahogany table which was decorated with lace doilies and a centerpiece of fresh lilies. Naomi wondered why on earth they were keeping flowers on an ocean liner, but no doubt there was no expense spared for all the members of first class.

Fredrick crossed to her and kissed her cheek. His lips was slightly sticky, no doubt from the liquor, causing Naomi to pull a grimace and wipe at the area he had just pressed his mouth to. He laughed and muttered an, "oh, sorry," before reaching into his breast pocket and popping a mint. "Are you ready for lunch?" Glancing up at the clock, Naomi noticed that it was very near noon.

"Actually," she countered, her mind both reeling from her quick decision and her heart calling out to her to stop the words from falling out of her mouth, "I was wondering if Mr. Andrews would be interested in fulfilling his word of a tour of the ship." Fredrick's brow knit, his head tilted in surprise at Naomi's random request but he nodded all the same, offering his arm to his fiance.

"Well I suppose he'd just be finishing up his lunch, considering you made me late for mine," Fredrick teased but it made Naomi groan all the same as they made their way to the suite door, "Isn't your mother going to be-" Naomi shook her head, eyes staring forward. Fredrick knew what that particular demeanor meant. And he knew better than to continue to push the subject as he instead offered a smile he hoped was comforting. Naomi of course didn't notice, as she opened the door for them to leave. It took Fredrick aback for a moment, considering she usually waited to be escorted out. At least she had more as of late since they had become engaged, doing her best to remain on formalities. And true, there was no one there to see but still...it was a bit strange...

"Let's go find Mr. Andrews then, shall we?" he asked as Naomi returned the cup of her hand to his elbow as he closed and locked the door behind them.

* * *

"_Meet me in our corner spot, you know the one, tomorrow at noon . . ._"

Emily's eyes upturned from her palm where her father's pocket watch laid open, telling the time true as it always had. Emily wished she could say otherwise - that the 12:07 reading it gave was the product of dying cogs and faulty craftsmanship. But that was hardly the truth. Her father had sprung for a Wilsdorf-made watch just as Wilsdorf &amp; Davies were gaining their footing in 1905. Were her watch made by the same man today, it would be a Rolex, renouned by even the richest on the Titanic as top-quality clockwork. Emily hadn't seen it go awry in all her seven years of handling it. And it was telling her now that the time was 12:08.

_Maybe she couldn't get away. Maybe her- Fredrick, _even in thought, Emily could not bear to acknowledge his title of fiance_, maybe he's keeping her. It could be anything. She could be anywhere, for any reason. _The thought did nothing to comfort her, only allowing her mind to segue into a darker explanation, _ She could be anywhere she wants. But she's not here. Why? . . . A woman's heart is an ocean of secrets_.

Snapping the pocket watch closed abruptly, Emily jammed it deep into her trouser pocket before marching out from the shade of the corridor, hoping to find a better vantage point. The sun was high above and blazing, hardly a cloud in the sky to keep its rays from warming the deck. Which meant everyone was out, rich and poor alike, despite the crisp bite of the wind. Everyone but Naomi. _That's yet to be determined_.

Doubling back on her steps, Emily returned to their spot, pulling a small bit of charcoal from her pocket as she knelt to the ground. Writing as close as she could to the railing, hopefully unnoticeable by passerbys and certainly not underfoot of, Emily scrawled the words, "Emily waited here". It was the best she could do, unable to wait in one spot any longer. She wanted nothing more than to give Naomi the benefit of the doubt- and maybe this was that, leaving a note to be found by the woman who was merely late -but experience and her gut refused to relent. There would be no silencing the storm inside of her until she could ask Naomi directly. She needed only find her first.

Within a few moments of reaching the top deck, Fredrick and Naomi found Mr. Andrews chatting up Captain Smith. "Mr. Andrews, my fiance was wondering if you could make good on your offer of giving us the grand tour?" Fredrick asked, tapping the top of Naomi's hand lightly. The tall pepper-haired man gave Naomi a sincere smile as he said,

"Well I'd be happy to. Are we done here, Captain?" The white-beared, proud looking man in blue and gold smiled back at Naomi just as a crew member arrived, handing him a small piece of paper. The captain read over the message, his brow furrowing before he handed it back to the crew member with a small nod.

"Ice warning?" Mr. Andrews said, quietly, but Naomi still overheard him, and she took a step closer to Captain Smith, almost as if out of instinct she hoped that the man would have sort of explanation that would calm her immediate nerves. Naomi was by no means a nautical expert, but anyone who paid attention in the world knew that ice was never a good thing for a ship full of people, regardless of which men in which high priced suits said that the liner was supposedly "unsinkable."

"Oh, don't look concerned, Miss Campbell," Captain Smith said was with a reassuring smile, "there's no real danger. In fact, I just added the last boilers be lit. We're due to make extra good time, perhaps even arrive Tuesday evening instead of Wednesday morning. Mr. Ismay is rather...insistently excited about the prospect."

Naomi's stomach plummeted. _One day less? One day less on Titanic...one day less...with Emily._ She removed her hand from Fredrick's arm, her eyes darting about the deck in a utterly futile hope that maybe Emily was roaming about the deck, that she wasn't waiting for Naomi idly and fruitlessly in the spot where they had shared their first kiss, and she would make an appearance and pull Naomi from the ridiculous scheme that she thought was her only option. Her mind only had a moment to wander before Fredrick's hand was in hers and Mr. Andrews was pointing down toward one end of the ship.

"She was built in Belfast, a strong Irish ship..."

Mr. Andrews and Fredrick's voices back and forth in tandem faded out of Naomi's focus...all she could hear was the roaring push and pull of the waves below..._I've made a mistake..._

Approaching the bow of the ship, choosing her advances carefully to avoid detection by 1st-class passenger and crew member alike, Emily grew tired of the duck and weave. For all she knew, she could have passed Naomi by now, somewhere between casting her head down to hide her face and slinking about the corner. She needed something a bit less conspicuous and a lot more convenient. Something . . . just up ahead, Emily watched as an elderly gentleman relieved himself of his coat and hat before placing both articles of clothing atop the nearest deck chair. Walking a considerable length away, he joined his son and grandson to spectate the spinning top his grandson had just let loose. As they watched with bated breath to see how long it would go, Emily had found her something. And her sometime to nab it in.

Closing the distance in long, almost-casual strides, Emily dropped her hand to swipe the fine attire up as she passed by, waiting to disappear behind the corner before donning the black wool bowler hat loosely, tucking her hair up into it before pulling it on more snugly. Unfurling the jacket with a shake, she continued to walk as she fit her arms into the sleeves. It hung loose on her frame and smelled of mothballs, but so long as no one approached her, neither were painfully obvious.

Just as she began to check the pockets of her new coat, out of curiosity more than anything, a familiar voice stopped her heart before it beat at double-time to make up for the stumble. Abandoning her search, Emily scurried to the lifeboats, falling on hands and knees to crawl in the gap between two. Grasping on to a nearby pulley system for balance, she kept her weight on her toes, ready to recoil further out of sight if necessary, but staying where she was to catch a glimpse of . . .

Well-pressed slacks and gorgeously-hemmed dresses passed by her as their voices picked up again. Emily recognized the speaker as the soft-spoken Mr. Andrews, his gentle Irish lilt addressing a question Emily hadn't quite heard the entirety of, too distracted by the fact that it had been Naomi that had asked it.

"About half, actually. Nothing gets past you, does it, Miss Campbell? My original design had included more - to be placed where we are currently walking, as a matter of fact - but it was thought by some that the deck would look too cluttered. Unfortunately, the final say was out of my hands."

Following the answer to Naomi's inquiry, the trio was met with another group of individuals, headed by, or perhaps running from, the boisterous presence of Molly Brown. "Tommy!" her loud voice called to Thomas Andrews, "see if you can settle a debate for us, oh hey, you too Freds!" Mr. Andrews and Fredrick nodded at Naomi who insisted they go on ahead.

"I think I'd like to stop and look at the view, I'll catch up," Naomi told Fredrick, pushing him forward. The young man paused for only a second before he followed Mr. Andrews toward the gaggle of geese who were ready to fawn over the two of them.

Staring off into the distance, Naomi's focus returned to the sea, the white foam against the ship, pressing against the Titanic while it broke through the afternoon yellows of the sun. Before she had too much time to get too introspective however, she felt a hand around her wrist as she was spun about. All she had time to see was a tiny person in a long coat pull her toward a door. It was the cusp of hair peaking out from an unfamiliar hat which revealed the wearer's identity, and enabled her to keep her mouth shut as she allowed herself to be hauled from the deck into an open abandoned weight room.

When the door was shut behind them, Emily removed the hat from her head, a scathing and hurt expression plastered onto her porcelain features. Naomi opened her mouth, trying to find something to say, but she was ultimately left with nothing. Even when Emily shrugged her shoulders, asking, "So?" Naomi was still at a loss. Instead, in her confusion, she opted for an escape. She didn't know what she wanted apart from Emily...but being here with her now...it was confining and confusing.

"I've got to go," she lied, nearing the door, but Emily pulled her farther in, sitting her down at on top of the wide window sill. "Emily-" Naomi began, but Emily's insistent words cut in before she could really formulate a proper retaliating response.

"Naomi, no. Can't you see? They've got you trapped!" With Naomi sat, Emily paced a few small steps away, giving Naomi a considerate distance from her escalating voice. Her feet remained planted between Naomi and the doorway as she turned to look Naomi dead on. "They cornered you to the bow of a ship and made you think, however long, that the water below would be warmer company. I know you. I know you're lonely." The anger in her voice deteriorated into tears as her eyes moistened. She hadn't realized how scared she had been until this very moment, looking into Naomi's blue-not-silver eyes and wondering if it'd be the last time. "I think you need someone to want you. Well, I do want you. So, be brave and want me back."

A part of Naomi wanted to run forward and kiss Emily within an inch of their lives. Another part couldn't find it in her to move her own legs. And in the back of her mind...all she could hear were her mother's strained, blood filled coughs echoing against her eardrum. "We're being naive, Emily," Naomi answered, sadly, unable to return the magnitude of how deeply Emily's words of affection had embedded within her. She stood slowly, keeping her arms wrapped around herself as she added, a single tear falling down her cheek. "There's more at stake here than you know." In a quiet whisper she slowly opened her eyes to Emily's befuddled expression as she added, "It doesn't matter how much I want you."

"It doesn't matter?" Emily repeated seethingly through a soft sob, shaking her head as if to spill the very words from her ears before they seeped into her memory. "Naomi, what exactly were you asking me last night? Did you want to hear me say what we are just to remember what we could have been? Am I _your_ conquest, Naomi? Some last rebellion before it's 'Mrs. McClair?'" For the first time, Emily had to look away, biting down on the plump of her lip as she tried and failed to regulate the emotion in her cracking voice. "You could be happy, Naomi. I could make you happy. Only you can stand in my way."

Emily's accusation and clarity struck her to her very core. _Conquest? Emily...you're everything...everything I cannot ever have...and everything stands in my way..._The few inches which stood between them seemed as great as the distance between Titanic herself and New York. There was a yearning to reach out, take Emily's hand and swear off her engagement, her life as she knew it, to be brave like Emily wanted, to cherish Emily like her mother suggested...but it was hard. All of it was so hard. So much. So fast. Sniffling back the onset of what she was sure would be an onslaught of a rain storm down her face, Naomi muttered into the din of silence, "I've got to go, Emily." In a complete act of cowardice, she turned her head away, unable to look Emily in the face as she opened the door and raced from the deck, not even caring that somewhere Fredrick was calling her back. There was no back to return to. She'd ran away from Emily. There were only her shackles left. But she could surrender herself later. For now...she needed to grieve...

* * *

_**Ch. 8 Post Date: 3/28**_


	8. April 14th 1912 6:17 PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): "L'amour est l'emblème de l'éternité, il confond toute la notion de temps, efface toute la mémoire d'un commencement, toute la crainte d'une extrémité. (Love is the emblem of eternity; it confounds all notion of time, effaces all memory of a beginning, all fear of an end). " -Madame de Staël**

* * *

**04/14/1912 6:17 PM**

Closing the door behind the bedroom which she had occupied alone for the last several hours, Naomi rested her head against the paneling in the doorway. Her shut eyes were practically blood red, her makeup was in patchy, ruined streaks across her lips and cheek, and it took another wracking sob to bring her fingers up to rub the remainder of the tears from the brim of her eyelashes. Her heart was utterly aching and her body was weighted and exhausted from the tears which hadn't stopped in the time which had passed by so achingly slow since she had last seen Emily. She'd refused anyone that had come to her door, locking herself in and insistent she wouldn't come out until she was ready. A need to be anywhere other than the bed that she and Fredrick shared had ultimately been the instigating force which had pushed her out into the sitting area.

Pulling herself away from the wood which had become her wailing wall, she observed through dry and tingling eyes that the entire space was abandoned. Drudging through the empty room, she finally managed her way to a sitting position on the sofa. She stared at the cold tea, wondering if it would ease or help her stomach to sip on something. Ultimately she decided to abstain as she slumped against the backing, and her eyes looking for some place to settle. After gazing listlessly at all the refined, hallow trinkets which adorned the lavish state room, her surveying landed upon one of her favorite paintings which was now hung above the fireplace.

It was of the broken woman, the one which she had spent so much time admiring only days before. Only where the woman had appeared lonely and sad then, now she seemed...bright. Strong. As if all the pieces divided and rearranged bits and chunks, as disjointed and bizarre as they appeared to the naked eye, were connected together rather purposefully. The woman's purpose. Naomi's swollen cheeks broke into a tiny smile as she continued to marvel over her, hopeful thoughts filing out of the dark recesses where they had been suppressed for the last several hours.

_We only have so much time to find our missing fragments and to put ourselves together. If she, this abstract and yet perfect creation, had the courage to be exactly as she was...regardless of the criticisms everyone would place on her, calling her strange, ugly, unwanted...but still in her own way...happily smiling... _"Why can't I?" she asked.

The normal barrier of her mother, of her loving if oft always strange caregiver doubled over in pain which always kept her halted in place was replaced by a clear and concise mantra, "Cherish it."

_Cherish her..._

A sudden, insistent need rushed her to her feet. She clutched at her coat as she darted out the door, hoping and praying she wasn't too late. Too late to make it right. Too late to take it all back. She didn't know what she would say, she only hoped it would be enough so that if necessary...they could try and start over. Or continue. Or whatever Emily Fitch wanted. Because she was willing, finally willing...and wanting...so much wanting...

* * *

After several minutes of frantic searching, she came up dry, checking and double checking corridors and crannies for any sign of the one person she was looking for. _This is insane, there's over two thousand people on this ship, I'll never find her..._ The thought seized her chest with a gripping chill, and it tugged her forward, in spite of her frustrated misgivings. Finally, running out of places to explore, she neared the stern of the deck. The space was relatively unoccupied, the temperature of the wind swirled and turned cold. The bitter bite turned her disposition bleak, as she feared that the voice inside her head from moments ago would indeed ring true: she was not to find her.

_At least not tonight. Or ever. She's probably avoiding me. I wouldn't blame her if she never wanted to see me agai_-

The sight of a billowing coat against one of the railings stopped her feet and thoughts dead in their tracks. And it was not just because it was any coat, but one which clearly did not fit it's wearer. Their small body slouched against the long metal bar, and it was the shoes...strangely...which let Naomi know she had found whom she was looking for. "Emily?" she asked, hesitant but clear.

Emily's head turned slowly. Her eyes were outlined in crimson and the sight caused Naomi's heart to sink. Emily's face was swollen but not hard as she eyed Naomi with what seemed to be suspicious hopefulness. Naomi decided to show her which emotion she should lock onto. And never let go. Without waiting for Emily to make a move for the positive or negative, Naomi grabbed Emily's hand and pushed her up against one of the pillars, bringing her hands up against Emily's neck as she kissed her fiercely. "I can't stand it," she breathed in a rushed, passionate whisper, her voice on the teetering edge of breaking completely, "I just can't..."

"It's okay," Emily assured her, her own hands clutching up into Naomi's hair, "It's okay." She sealed each promise with a pressing kiss, pouring back into Naomi the passion she was slipped with every parting of their lips. Clasping the backs of Naomi's hands, she urged Naomi to touch closer, deeper, more before pressing her palms to Naomi's pounding chest. "Jesus . . ." she exhaled, certain Naomi would have a heart attack where she stood with the revolution roaring inside of her. Returning her hand to Naomi's once again, she gently coaxed it into her own, twining their fingers as Naomi let it fall with Emily's to their sides.

"Come on," she murmured, offering a reassuring smile before turning and leading them into the first class section of the deck. She could tell by the way Naomi's hand gripped at hers apprehensively that Naomi recognized the area. They were fast approaching, and now entering the weight room Emily had dragged her in earlier. The last few steps took some pulling on Emily's part to get Naomi past the threshold.

Closing the door behind them, Emily began to work off her coat, watching as Naomi's arms slowly migrated upward to hug about her chest. Working faster, Emily explained, "This is the only room where you could not. Now it won't be." With her jacket removed, she walked further into the room, secretive but assuring smile still on her lips as she passed Naomi, unable to resist an obvious toe-to-head checkout. Folding her coat into a tidy rectangle, Emily knelt down to place it on the ground. "Also, it's cold outside and the sunset's due to pour in from the starboard windows." Leading by example, she laid on her back, settling her head atop the makeshift pillow before craning it back to look up at Naomi expectantly. "It's a bit small to share side by side, but maybe if you-"

Nestling perpendicular to Emily, she extended her legs in the opposite direction from the smaller woman, an amused smile curling across one side of her lips as she lay back, meeting Emily's nearby cheek with a small press of a kiss. The next few words were very hard to say, but if she really was going to face this, and to face it with Emily, then it begged to be uttered. "You scare me to death, Emily," she said, her tone apprehensive but hopeful. "And I want to be brave. It's all just terribly...complicated, I'm not...sure of myself like you are. I think I could be." Emily's brown eyes were rapt to her attention as she added, "I want to be."

"I think you are. Brave, that is. You're scared, right?" Naomi nodded. "And you're here?" Another nod. "That's brave, Naomi," Emily said with warmth, mirroring the small hint of a smile to cross Naomi's lips.

Neither had words to follow up what had been spoken. That was alright with Emily. For once there was nowhere to be, nothing to hide from. Just . . . Naomi and Emily. Emily and Naomi. Looking into one another's eyes, no fiance just around the corner. No responsibilities but to lie back and let the Titanic take them to America for a new start. A start that could very well be the end.

"I'm not sure." Emily shattered the silence with her confession, waiting for the shards to settle as she took a deep breath. Her eyes fixed to the ceiling to make her words flow freer, fearful of seeing doubt grow in Naomi's gaze, knowing what was to come from her mouth next. "I'm not sure how we'd make it work. I've got ten quid in my pocket." She gave a self-deprecating laugh, forgetting to look away from Naomi as she did so. "I'm an artist, for christ's sake." Catching herself in Naomi's eyes, she held the woman's gaze for a terrifying beat before looking back up. "I don't have what Fredrick can give you. I never will. That I'm sure of. And I'm sure that if you're not with me when we step onto land . . . I'm sure I will always long for when we were the Titanic." Swallowing dryly, Emily turned to face Naomi once more. "Being sure isn't always a good thing."

A soft warmth radiated in the center of Naomi's chest. One which she had never been familiar with before. It passed down her arm and through her fingertips as she gave Emily's hand a gentle, feather like squeeze. "Tell me about Paris," she said, her eyes dancing a bit. "Not about the women, necessarily, although you could if you wanted. Tell me something-" she lightly bit the side of her tongue, showing teeth as her smile's width increased, "-special."

Smiling down at her hand in Naomi's, Emily licked her lips, casting her eyes up in memory recall as she played her life in Paris before her. Almost instantly, her ears were filled with a melody swelling with beautiful, tragic longing. It had been her favorite discovery amongst Delphine's records and yet the song never belonged to the woman, not for a second. This song was hers and hers alone . . . or at least it had been.

Emily gave Naomi's hand a tiny squeeze before releasing it to flush her fingers and palm to Naomi's. From there, she let her fingertips drift until their hands fell into a lazy waltz, skin tracing skin. "When I first arrived in Paris, I didn't know the language. Well, some, but just enough to baffle people. I found it was easier to pick it up if I liked a song. Like the rhythm just suddenly made sense. I've listened to a lot of French songs, Naomi. This is the only one you need to hear."

"Are you going to sing for me, Ms. Fitch?" Emily blushed, glancing down shyly before nodding all the same.

"I am." Concentrating on the sensation of Naomi's fingertips tracing her very lifeline, Emily closed her eyes, taking the first few notes in breathy nerves before finding the natural gravel of her voice.

"_Les parois de ma vie sont lisses. _  
_Je m'y accroche mais je glisse . . _."

As Emily's voice began in a sweet but slightly trembling tone, no doubt from nerves, the French rolling off her tongue so naturally, Naomi closed her eyes and gave translation to each soft, tender phrase that Emily projected into her mind.

"_The walls of my life are smooth_  
_I cling to them but I slide_  
_Slowly, to my destiny_  
_Dying because of love_

_While the world is judging me_  
_I only see one shelter for me_  
_while every solution is condemned_  
_Dying because of love_"

Suddenly the lyrics produced myriads of scenes in her mind's eye. She was in a small chateau, a bed in the far corner, easels and paints in another. The room was small but it was theirs. The morning sun was basking out over the mismatched floorboards beneath, as the sound of a delicate brush stroke woke Naomi from her morning slumber.

"_Dying because of love_  
_Voluntarily getting lost in the night_  
_Pay the price of your life for love_  
_Sinning against your body, but not against your mind_."

From her easel, Emily, her artist, her lover, clad in nothing but chaps and suspenders peeked over her shoulder and smiled. Her fingers still wet with paint, she lept into the bed alongside Naomi as the latter screeched, begging Emily not to coat her in the colors which were now being smeared across her chin, her chest, her shoulders. Laughter, pure and strong, unlike anything she had ever heard, served as background to the lyrics which were still filtering through her mind.

"_Let's leave the world with its problems_  
_The hateful people against each other_  
_With their petty ideas_  
_Dying because of love_."

The image changed to a moonlit evening. The two of them walking hand in hand down the streets of Paris, unafraid of what anyone would do or say. Gone were Naomi's fancy, frilly, nonsensical dresses. Instead, they were replaced with a simple, modest green frock. She often wore green as Emily insisted it not only complimented her eyes but her ever changing auburn locks. And in the shimmering evening, Emily's skin was a beautiful, glistening ivory. They stopped at a nearby street corner, picking a flower, one for each: a lily and a rose.

"_Because our love can not live_  
_it's better to close the book,_  
_and better than burning it_  
_Dying because of love_

_Leaving holding the head high_  
_Emerge victorious out of a defeat_  
_Overthrowing all the information_  
_Dying to love_."

They were in a larger chateau now. There was a pram in the corner. And a child with the silkiest skin Naomi had ever touched. She had Emily's large brown eyes, but Naomi cradled her to her chest as if she were her own. The pair in the picturesque painting of a room were much older now, but still they showered each other with warm affection as Naomi held their daughter toward the light.

In the present, Naomi's chest heaved with an onslaught of yearning. Her eyes leaked from their far corners, as if they were begging for a testament that these things could come to pass.

"_Dying because of love_  
_Like we can die of anything_  
_Leaving everything behind_  
_To take only what were us, what were you_."

And finally, an image of a kiss. Just one precious kiss. One that did not end. Did not fade. One that was given on an ocean liner, and then given to a dying lover in her arms as they slowly left this world...arm in arm...together...

"_You are Spring, I am Autumn_  
_Your heart is taken, mine is given_  
_And my path is already drawn_  
_Dying because of love_  
_Dying because of love_  
_Dying because of love_."

As the song ended, Emily and Naomi turned toward one another, Emily's eyes expectant of what Naomi could possibly say. But there were no words. Nothing could describe what she had just seen, what her mind had just admitted was all Naomi could ever want. In an attempt to try to convey, at the very least, the intended emotion behind it, Naomi rose, hovering above Emily, their lips upside down and inches from one another. And Naomi kissed her. Kissed her like she had never before. Not with passion. Not with tenderness or eagerness. With promise. And when she pulled away and the kinetic energy between their lips was still ever present she whispered, "There's something I want you to do for me."

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**POST CHAPTER AUTHOR'S NOTE (ItFeelsSoWrite): For those curious to hear the song Emily sings, it is 'Mourir D'Aimer' made popular by Charles Aznavour. A youtube search will bring up a video. I know the song technically did not exist in 1912, but who's to say Charles wasn't inspired by a tune passed on through generations, eh?**

_**Ch. 9 Post Date: 4/4**_


	9. April 14th 1912 7:13 PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): Good news! **_**2:23 A.M. **_**has been written to completion, but we are still sticking with our posting schedule. The final chapter will be posted relatively soon and updates will be getting closer and closer together, so keep an eye out for that. For me, this is the chapter, above all the rest, that I am the most proud of, so I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed helping to write it. And please don't slow down in those reviews! **

**(ItFeelsSoWrite): I've got to second Whedonite here; This chapter was not only immensely enjoyable to write, but in my opinion our strongest chapter. Not to say the ones to follow fizzle in comparison! It's just that this scene is so iconic in the movie . . . and I like ours better. Leave it to Naomily to transcend subtlety and not-so-subtlety into something purely electric. So, you excited yet? Get reading!**

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**04/14/1912 7:13 PM**

Despite being reassured that she more than belonged where she sat in Naomi's sitting room, there was little Emily could do for her anticipation-fueled nerves. Her knee bobbed up and down anxiously as she tried her best to make the room familiar before Naomi returned from where she had disappeared into the bedroom deeper in, but there was simply too much to take in. Too much art. Too much color. Too many shapes. Too many textures. And an exceeding amount of opulence.

Carved gold filigree lined every mahogany boiserie, disguising chest of drawers and wardrobes alike within the walls, leaving the luxurious cream carpeting free to be sectioned with more aesthetically-pleasing furniture. And there was plenty. Four sitting chairs around a round, matching mahogany table. A love seat, which Naomi had sat her in before plopping parchment and a canvas bundle in her lap, asking vaguely if the light was okay. But what Emily's eyes returned to most, outside of the impressive display of original Monets and Picassos lining the walls, was the couch almost purposefully opposite of her. It was the perfect length to drape a certain, ivory-skinned body upon, its high and curved armrests making for a dramatic statement. Emily wondered if it ever occurred to Fredrick to make use of the drastic angle for something other than a place to rest his brandy before the thought sent a wave of equal parts panic and disgust straight to the bottom of her gut.

_Fredrick_! Emily threw a startled glance at the door they had come in from, certain that the very thought of his name would summon him to her discovery. Her knee bobbed in double-time now, knocking the canvas bundle from her lap in the resulting tremor. The sound of its muffled thud broke Emily's fearful vigil of the door. When she looked down, the sketchbook in her lap began to make more sense. The bundle was a belt, Emily observed as she fully unraveled the unkempt swatch of cloth, charcoals, stubs and sharpening tools filling each of its thin, deep pockets. Scooping the bundle up, Emily unraveled it completely and smoothed it down along the length of the side table next to her, distracting herself in the inventorying of supplies Naomi clearly meant for her to use.

She had just removed a particular favorite of hers, a stick of willow charcoal, when the sound of the bedroom door opening drew her attention. Gone was Naomi's dress and the restrictive undergarments that came in tow, the sheer silk of Naomi's robe clinging and hanging from every natural curve of her gorgeously long body.

Straightening up in her seat, Emily cast another nervous glance at the door at her back, only able to afford it a second of her time before she found her eyes right back on Naomi's frame. "Are we changing into pyjamas? I don't wear pyjamas."

With a luscious grin, Naomi's surprisingly assertive tone replied, "You're exactly as I want you." As her foot fall led her further into her room, each heel to toe motion elevated her confidence. Emily's eyes were already undressing her long before her own fingers began to weave up into the silk fabric of her robe. She was not at all shy when it came to her body, but the look of lust..._and heady appreciation_...in Emily's eyes was indeed unlike any other voyeuristic endeavor she had ever found herself in her short lived waves of seduction.

The "will she or won't she" expression in Emily's face and the quickened rise of her chest against the moderately opened flap of her shirt gave Naomi the extra boost of confidence she needed. "Glad to see you've been preparing," she noted with a smirk as she stopped a few inches from where she could be reachable if Emily stretched out her hand to her. Keeping eye contact for as long as she could, she stroked her fingertips up across her body, stopping once she had a grasp of the fabric atop her shoulders. Then, ever so slowly, she revealed one shoulder and then the next. Emily's eyes managed to stay firmly locked on Naomi's. _Let's see how long that lasts_, she thought cheekily as she lowered the fabric and unveiled the top dip of the round of her breasts. Still Emily's eyes remained upward. "So professional," Naomi teased, her voice low, unable and unwilling to hide the desire in her tone, as she dropped the robe. Her entire nude form was revealed to Emily's wide eyes as she instantly flushed scarlet. It was also at that moment that Naomi realized Emily had been clutching onto one of her pencils as a small, _crack_!, filled the room the instant her robe hit the floor.

"S-sorry!" Emily eeked, startled to response by the sensation of her fingers collapsing in on one another in the absence of the charcoal between them. Diving right after the fragmented pieces, Emily kept her head low and her eyes to the ground until a thought hit her.

_What are you doing? Being . . . polite? She doesn't want polite, Ems. Fredrick is polite. And Fredrick is not here. But you are. And Naomi is. Naked_.

Like a match to gasoline, Emily felt her skin ignite with the revelation of the reality standing stark before her. Plucking the splintered charcoal from the floor, Emily tossed her hair over her shoulder before straightening back up at a deliberately slow pace, her gaze utterly transparent as she mapped every inch of Naomi from her toes up and up and up . . .

"Didn't expect to see this beneath all that garish attire? Disappointed?" Naomi's voice seemed far off, or perhaps just drowned out by the sound of Naomi's warmly-lit skin, singing sweet choruses of breathless gasps and breaking "Emily!"'s to Emily's increasingly-dilated pupils. She could almost forget to answer the half-heard words if it wasn't for her need for Naomi to know how completely not disappointed she was.

Eyes circling Naomi's pert nipple the way she wished her tongue could now, Emily gave the deepest, most assured "No," she had ever uttered before her gaze skipped up to lock with Naomi's.

Naomi's skin lit, seeming to vibrate, as Emily's eyes ricocheted against the pulse of her heart in her neck, her wrists, her heart, her...

Slowly lowering her fingers to delicately frame either side of her hips, Naomi decided to stoke the flame. "You are accustomed to drawing gorgeous French women. A bit different from your usual pallet, ne suis-je?"

"Yes, bu-" Emily's mouth remained agape mid-word as her ear registered the French flowing from Naomi's tongue. Eyes widening just the slightest, Emily's gaze of admiration now held within it a note of vulnerability. She took a breath before asking, "Wait, parlez-vous français?"

Naomi's smile fell into a command of seduction she had never worn before. Here she was standing bare before this gorgeous young artist and the latter was interested in exchanging a tit for tat. _Very well, mon amour_. "Oui, je ai tout compris."

She knew. Naomi knew every lyric, had heard it for its meaning and not just its sweet sound. And if she knew Emily, like Emily knew she did, Naomi would also know that the song hadn't been chosen casually. She had to. She was the spring to her autumn, two seasons seperated but parallel, forever looking across at one another never to touch.

At a loss for words, Emily borrowed from the lyrics of the song once again, asking the question she seemed to always ask, in one way or another . . . "Mon cœur est donnée . Est le vôtre . . .?"

Just as slowly as she had entered, Naomi sat on the nearby couch. She absorbed the words and upon hearing the question 'my heart is given. Is yours?' thought quite immediately, _to __**you**__? I think so..._and even if it had not been said aloud, admitting it so quickly and willingly to herself thrilled her. But only less so than the fact that Emily asked at all. The colors of the room distilled for her. The tingling nerves and vivacity settled around Emily like a lit halo. She had felt a cataclysmic shift in the room the minute she knew. But it was still fresh and precious and needed to be cradled with care. So...the gamely intention would continue. "I think your hands will be able to tell..." when it looked like Emily was about to split another pencil betwixt her fingers Naomi clarified, "in the drawing...Ms. Fitch..."

"Right," Emily agreed a little too eagerly, doing a poor job of hiding an impish smile as she settled into her chair. Working off her shoes with a shimmy of her ankles, Emily pulled her legs up and beneath her before placing the sketchpad in her lap at a slight slant in favor of her right hand. She wiped her fingertips pristine on the pockets of her trousers, delighting that Naomi followed the mundane movement with a particularly keen interest. She almost wanted to let her fingers linger . . . give Naomi a show of her own, but first things first. Taking her time in choosing her charcoal, Emily brought it to hover straight to paper. It almost seemed as if she were going to dive right into the task before she glanced up from the pad, teeth tugging at her lip. "_Just_ the drawing?"

Sensing it was time to begin, Naomi shifted back so that she was laying on her right side. She rested her head amongst the small congregation of pillows atop the arm rest. Basking in the glow which radiated from Emily's face at seeing Naomi not only bare but now utterly before her, she felt her own desires begin to wax stronger as she boldly replied, "For now..." Emily's smile grew before Naomi asked, "should I adjust or is this position good enough to capture my intent? Again...in the drawing..."

Emily's eyes glided over Naomi's frame with an entirely new intent, taking in the silhouette of Naomi's body as a whole. Making note of every shadow cast, every feature accentuated. Turning her head with a thoughtful squint, Emily conducted with her charcoal as she directed in an even tone, "Take your left hand and bring it up into your hairline. Really," she tucked her charcoal piece behind her ear before using the same hand to run her fingers through her own locks, "get your fingers in there. Yes. Good." Emily's thoughtful expression crumbled as laughter leaked from Naomi's pursed lips, Emily trying to place why until she tripped over the double entandre in her words. She bit back her own embarrassed laugh with a shake of her head as she attempted to maintain a sense of professionalism. "Stop laughing." Naomi grinned and held her breath, but the laughter bubbled through despite her effort. "Naomi!" Emily rasped, her faux indignation surrendering to laughter midway through the 'scolding' utterance of the woman's name.

Plucking the charcoal from her ear, she shook out the rest of her giggles before settling back down, eyes studying Naomi once more. She continued as if they had never lost focus, but her lingering smile was certainly deeper. "Now your right arm, I want you to reach down to your thigh. Point your fingers . . . okay, then draw your hand up and let your elbow fall behind you. Is that comfortable?" Naomi gave her a smile and a careful nod, mindful to remain as still as possible.

Nearly satisfied with Naomi's pose, Emily's eyes fell on Naomi's last, her lips parting to suggest that they maintain eye contact before finding Naomi's eyes already rapt to her. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Naomi derobe before her a second time, her soul slipping out from the blue depths of her private gaze without a shade of hesitance upon her cheeks.

Turning scarlet for the both of them, Emily willed the awareness of her own wetness from her mind before retracting the charcoal back to the sketchpad, committing to the task without another second's delay. "Just like that . . ."

Emily set to work with a keen focus, charcoal scratching in brief but frequent patterns as she worked on establishing the outline. Though she would have greeted any topic of discussion with Naomi, she was thankful that the woman was kind enough to give Emily her focus, remaining quiet up until Emily's detailing of Naomi's fingertips at her hip, when she observed with a pleased smirk, "I believe you are blushing, Ms. Fitch. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing."

Chewing at her lip, Emily afforded Naomi a brief glance and an amused smile before retorting down into her work, "He does landscapes."

From start to finish, Emily was done in little less than an hour, her last few strokes of the charcoal timed nearly fifteen seconds apart as she made her final touches. Looking at it this way and that, Emily finally returned her shoeless feet to the ground, sitting up properly in her seat before beckoning Naomi over with a wave of her hand. If she had known Naomi would slip her robe back on upon standing, she might've had the mind to carry the finished piece to her instead.

"I can't sign it until you approve," Emily prefaced somewhat nervously as Naomi's arm draped along the back of her seat. Her eyes climbed up Naomi's very near body, head swimming in the combination of Naomi's perfume and the natural scent of her draping hair as she leaned down for a better look.

Naomi admired and absorbed every line of the drawing, trying desperately to hide the continued cycling arousal that was circulating through her at being near Emily after what was quite possibly the most erotic moment of her life. Emily's fingers were resting atop the parchment lightly drumming atop the paper. She decided she loved the smudges on each little knuckle. In fact she was certain it was one of her favorite things about the woman. "Your work is stunning." She placed her hands atop Emily's shoulders before placing her lips on her cheek and whispering against the warm kiss, "but only half as stunning as the artist herself."

"Good enough for me," Emily murmured somewhat bashfully, the blush in her cheek rushing to kiss Naomi back. Unable to contain her pleased smile, she signed "Emily F." and the date, "April 14, 1912" to the bottom of the portrait. Carefully separating the parchment from the glue binding, Emily offered the free sheet up to Naomi officially, unable to keep her eyes from Naomi's lips for longer than a millisecond.

"Thank you," Naomi practically cooed, placing a kiss on Emily's lips. Her fingers had barely touched the parchment when she felt Emily tug at it, keeping them firmly locked in their kiss. The side of Naomi's lips parted in a giggle as Emily and Naomi pulled, gently, in kind until Emily was the one to release. Standing upright, Naomi glanced over at the nearby open bedroom door. She thought about it. She thought about it hard. But there was far too much of a chance they would be...interrupted. So, with a sigh and a glance down at the portrait, and in her mind's eye, Emily herself, a thought occurred to her.

"You know there's something else I always wanted to try," she admitted with a mischievous smile. She could practically feel Emily's delight, and heard the smaller girl stumble over herself as she followed her to the bedroom. At the door, however, Naomi turned halting a kind but staying hand upon Emily's bare chest. Emily leaned forward with gusto, no doubt figuring this was some form of foreplay. And Naomi almost let her through the door along with her, to damn anyone who dared think they could interrupt what had already been started. But before Emily's lips could latch onto Naomi's again, she stiffened her arm and kept Emily precisely where she stood. She practically felt the woman in front of her deflate, her eyes utterly baffled as Naomi couldn't help but smile. "Wait here," she insisted, closing the door on Emily's exasperated expression.

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_**Ch. 10 Post Date: 4/8**_


	10. April 14th 1912 9:25 PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): Longest chapter of the story and I'm sure the content will speak for itself. Let us know what you guys think!**

****DISCLAIMER**: This chapter is rated "M" due to explicit sexual content. We aren't changing the rating on the fic itself, however, unless the moderators tell us we must.**

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**04/14/1912 9:25 PM**

After only a few minutes of keeping Emily waiting, Naomi threw open her bedroom door and proudly strutted out. Donning an over-sized button down and even larger dress pants, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped as Emily's wide eyes gaped at her attire. "The shirt's one of his smaller ones, but the trousers-" tugging at the belt loops, the bottom of the pants moved from their gathered bunch at Naomi's feet. She bit the corner of her lip before crossing to the nearby desk. "I know," she said proudly, pulling out a pair of sheers from one of the drawers.

"You can't be serious," Emily insisted, though her expression had melted into one of devilish glee. Naomi liked it. And to prove it, she lowered herself to her haunches and cut the trousers at the knee.

"It was one of his least favorite pairs anyway," she insisted as she tossed the free fabric into the nearby rubbish bin. Emily shook her head slowly as Naomi continued to explain, "I'm sure this all seems like a bizarre thing to do after..." Naomi's cheeks flushed, "...after what we just shared, but I was hoping it would help disguise me a bit." Shaking down her newly trimmed pants she presented each leg in kind. "Yes?"

Emily giggled, her voice huskier than Naomi had intended as she nodded and replied, "Yes."

Sauntering slowly, swaying the hips that Emily had now seen in all their glory, Naomi waited until she was inches from Emily before she ran her hands up and across Emily's collar down to her shoulders. "So we can slip away?" The wanting dip in her tone was inexplicable and as she lowered her lips to Emily's she whispered in conclusion, "I promise I dressed them in my perfume."

Emily breathed in Naomi's scent, delighting in the sensations of the electricity jumping between their oh-so-close lips. She had an answer, a thrillingly convenient answer at that, but first . . . Emily closed the circuit and married their lips in a deep press, every inch of skin abuzz with the idea of what was soon to come. _Who, really . . ._ She kept her lips to Naomi's, kissing her again and again, tasting her at slightly different angles with each press. With Naomi distracted, she fished a hand through her pockets, patting herself down until she located Cook's greatest gift.

"I've got just the key," Emily murmured, ears flushing red at the slight moan of protest Naomi lamented their parting lips with. Smiling half-apologetically, half-coyly, Emily stalled briefly with an excited wiggle before taking Naomi's hand and pressing an iron key into her palm. "It's to the first class luggage room," she explained as Naomi ran her fingers over the metal. "I nicked it off of Cook at the party . . . figured I'd return the dress I borrowed. Hardly anyone goes down there. But I would." Emily delivered her promise with a blunt gaze of lust, eyes tracing up from Naomi's thighs to meet hers with an unabashed smile.

Naomi's head swam with the indication of Emily's words and deciding she could wait no longer, she picked up the drawing that Emily had just composed for her and indicated she wanted to fold it. "May I?" she asked, courteously, and once Emily had nodded her go-ahead, Naomi folded it just the once and slid it into the breast pocket of the coat. With a small giggle, she grabbed Emily by the hand and sent them through the door of the cabin. Almost immediately, they collided with a passing steward only feet from the door.

"What do you two think you're doing? That's a private state room. You shouldn't be in there!" Naomi straightened her back, momentarily forgetting how she was dressed, until Emily nudged her to say something.

"I don't see how that's any of your concern, sir," she insisted, trying to find a way of navigating them down the hall without causing any sort of commotion. The man's hands clenched around their elbows as he attempted to pull them both down the opposite end of corridor. Naomi tried to pry herself free, but Emily was much faster on her feet. The man toppled over and grabbed at his foot the moment Emily's heel stomped atop it. Feeling the surge of mischief over their plight come over her, Naomi bit down on the man's hand as he attempted to steady himself against her.

Reaching for Emily, the two of them laughed at the state they had left the official in as he bellowed, "You can't assault people on this ship!" Naomi found her last breadth of courage as she heralded quite loudly,

"Yeah? Go fuck yourself." Emily's mouth opened wide, as she glowed with pride over Naomi's colorful language. But the steward was quickly finding his bearings and was already calling for help. Seconds later the pair were being chased through the first class hallways, the security guards hot on their heels.

"Down! Down!" Emily shouted through an exhilarated laugh, taking Naomi's hand and the lead before veering them off into a stairwell. Pushing past the other passengers, Emily weaved them through the more populated corridors, hoping to lose their bulkier pursuers in the thick of the crowd. Her grip on Naomi's hand never faltered, though they nearly tripped over one another on more than one occasion.

Tumbling down onto C Deck, Emily stalled to gain her bearings before leading them to their right, letting go of Naomi's hand to search her pockets. Stopping in front of the luggage hold door, Emily attempted and failed to line the key with the lock. The sound of it clattering to the ground prefaced the hoarse voices of breathless men barking directions. Falling after the key with a kneel, Emily scooped it up and tried again, Naomi pushing lightly at her shoulders in a sense of giddy urgency. "They're catching up!"

"I know!" Emily squeaked before flashing Naomi a triumphant smile. With a twist of her wrist the door swung open, the two of them spilling across the threshold without a second's hesitation. Barely catching herself and Naomi, she helped them both to their feet before plucking the key from the door and closing it shut. She pressed up against the door and peaked through the porthole, motioning for Naomi to recede into the shadows and out of view from the window, perking an ear to listen for the rising volume of their pursuers' approach.

"Stop dawdling! They've obviously made it to D Deck by now. No doubt heading for their quarters. Well? Get going!" Even footfalls quickened into a scatter, thudding down the hall until the sounds faded in with the drone of the steam engines below.

Leaning her head back against the door in a sigh of relief, Emily smiled over at Naomi before walking to her side. Wrapping an arm in the crook of Naomi's elbow, Emily began to guide them in a leisurely stroll further in, plucking at the fabric of Fredrick's shirt as she did.

"You wear it very well. I can't help but wonder what suspenders would do for the look." Emily smiled and hooked a thumb beneath her very own pair, giving them a snap.

Giving Emily's little dalliance of her suspenders an appreciative smile, Naomi's head slowly rotated as she observed all the possessions from the various travelers which lined the massive floor of the storage room. Her eyes darted past the black Rolls Royce she had arrived at the dock to board Titanic on. Pristine and perfect. Not a smudge, nothing of...character to be seen on the vehicle. With a heavy inhale, Naomi turned to Emily and brought their lips together in a searing kiss. Her hands fumbled with nervous electricity, but as she reached for Emily's waist they stilled, finding their port. When it seemed oxygen was momentarily necessary, Naomi leaned back, her eyes alight as Emily's pupils dilated to twice their size right in front of her. "I've shown you mine..." she smiled playfully, her fingers running the length of the suspenders, though this time in a much more seductive formation as they lingered across the breadth of the top of Emily's breasts just beneath the snaps. She trembled. But she was all right. Because she was here, and this was Emily.

Heart pounding to the point where she was certain Naomi could feel the very pulse beneath the light press of her fingers, Emily's captive eyes broke away to scan the room before falling on a clearing and nearby, a fine oriental rug rolled loosely and bound with rope. Pardoning her absence from Naomi's touch with a quick peck on the lips, Emily went to the rug and tested its weight against her arms before calling Naomi over. "Help me brace this to the ground . . ."

Naomi aided as requested, both of them overly careful not to let the 18 kilos of vertical weight collapse upon the other. As soon as it was horizontal, Emily was at the rope with a pocket knife procured from her pocket, straddling the carpet at her ankles for leverage as she sawed away. With a snap and a soft yelp, the releasing rug nearly swept Emily from underfoot before she could awkwardly hobble free. Taking to one side, she watched as Naomi mirrored her without prompting, keen to the purpose of it all now. The two of them unfurled the rug as far as it could go until it lapped up against the storage crates at either side.

Meeting in the middle, Emily smiled across from Naomi, removing her coat in a bundle before dropping it to the ground beside her. Hooking her thumbs in her suspenders once more, eyes and slowly-growing smile never leaving Naomi's visage, Emily tugged them taut at her shoulders before slipping them free to fall at her sides. She let Naomi process this precisely two seconds before her nimble fingers were making effortless work from top to bottom along the buttons of her shirt. Undoing the last one, she reached for Naomi's hand, bringing it to slip beneath the unparted folds to rest at her navel.

"Undressing women is half the fun . . ." Emily's murmur carried like a promise as she leaned into the pressure of Naomi's palm, bringing her hands to work at Naomi's buttons in the same, calm pace she had used on her own.

There were perhaps three small bulbs about the wide cabin. They and the starlight through the portholes were the only light with which Naomi could see Emily's skin. So when she touched her, it was almost like a hairbreadth of a surprise that her fingertips were brushed against something warm. No. Not warm. Alight. Bringing their lips together again, she wrapped her arms around Emily's bare waist, her fingers running up the smaller girl's back as both of them elicited a shiver at the contact. Naomi's hands maneuvered slowly to Emily's abdomen before tracing up the woman's taut stomach. Not feeling bold enough just yet, in spite of her wanting to, Naomi's hands skipped above Emily's barely visible breast to the lithe woman's shoulders. Her anticipation was practically radiating from her as slowly removed Emily's shirt, one shoulder at a time, revealing her bare chest.

Just as glaringly confidant as Naomi had been when she had presented herself to Emily but an hour prior, Emily stood before her, no shred of embarrassment on her face. And Naomi found...suddenly...she didn't know what to do. Freddie usually just undressed her, then undressed himself, and then they went to. This was all brand new, exciting, and different. "So, do we take turns or do I-?" Emily's breath escaped in a quiet laugh as she pressed their lips into a kiss, her artist's hands slidding inside Naomi's now fully unbuttoned shirt.

The sensation was a powerful and heady one. In that moment she was experiencing everything they had shared in the stateroom but with fluxed potency. Her trembling intensified, but she only used it to spur her forward. Once her shirt was discarded there was no further reverence taken. The power of her next kiss splayed both women prostrate against the floor. Naomi strained for balance atop Emily, working like hell to undo the smaller girl's pants beneath her, practically clawing the buttons and zipper if they did not free Emily of what Naomi was craving. "So eager," Emily commented, re-situating herself enough so that she could reach for Naomi's pants as well.

"Patience is a virtue better suited for the upper class, wouldn't you say?" Naomi teased with a smile before closing her remark against Emily's lips yet again, finally feeling a freeing tug between them which brought on headier skin brushed contact.

Drawing her thigh to press firmly between Naomi's own, Emily delighted in the taller woman's shuddering gasp. She placed an elbow behind her to brace her weight as she sat up to meet Naomi's lips, tracing her tongue vertical across them. A small smile lingered on her lips at the goosebumps forming beneath her lazy touches up and down along Naomi's arm. "It's no race . . . touch what you want. When you want . . ." Emily cooed, bringing her roaming hand to draw inward across Naomi's lightly-rising chest. Taking Naomi's nipple between her thumb and index, she rolled the pert pink nub in slow circles, giving an occasional flick, all the while listening to Naomi's breathing.

Naomi's eyes closed as she absorbed the passion flooding her. Her entire body tingled with a continuing jump from the top of her spine all the way down to her toes at Emily's lingering caresses. "Can't think of anything while you're doing that," she finally managed, her voice hoarse from the increased breathing.

"Try harder," Emily replied with a quick, taut pull of the swollen nub. Naomi's body jerked momentarily as her eyes zeroed in on Emily's neck. With a growing grin she countered,

"You asked for it," before bringing her lips down to the pulse point where Emily's neck met her shoulder and sucked hard. The loud moan that elicited from Emily made Naomi laugh, her lips vibrating in tandem. "Sssh," she cheekily chided, "keep that up and I won't have much time at all."

"Mmm, who says you're only good for one?" Emily retorted coyly, her words coming in through small laughs and gasps. Arching her head back against the carpet to further bare herself to Naomi, she buried a hand amidst Naomi's tawny locks. The fingertips of her other slipped beneath the hem of Naomi's knickers, right into the natural dip of her hips, following along until she could feel coarse hairs beneath her fingertips.

She stayed her hand as she felt Naomi's lips leave her neck. When Naomi's wide blue eyes rose to meet hers, she was already waiting to meet them. They held each other's gaze, still at first, until Emily's itching fingers traced the divide of Naomi's center. Naomi's pupils adjusted like the lens of a focusing camera, in time with the tightening of Naomi's thighs against her own.

Withdrawing her hand partially, Emily gripped at Naomi's hip with a firm palm, pressing up against her in tandem with the rest of her body, gently but firmly overtaking Naomi until she was atop the yielding woman. Taking Naomi's hand, she splayed it over her heart, pressing it there as her heart pounded in overtime. Without a word, she descended on Naomi's lips, kissing her briefly before migrating down along her jaw to her long neck, mirroring the instinctual kisses Naomi had lavished her with. From her neck, she traveled down along her clavicle until skipping down to her breast, palm kneading into Naomi's hip all the while. She circled the skin about Naomi's nipple in kisses before abruptly taking Naomi into her mouth, lips dragging across the erect nub before her pointed tongue took to work.

Naomi's back arched into Emily's presses. Her hand went into Emily's hair, and she marveled at how much more there was to grab onto. Not that Freddie had ever been this attentive. _Fuck, no, no one else here right now, Naomi_. Glancing down at Emily, she could feel her pupils dilate as she watched her lover lavish her breast with her mouth. It made her breathing increase all the more as her chest rose, and her free hand clutched at the fibers in the carpet, unable to grab onto anything tangible. She knew that Emily wanted to take her time, she wanted to savor the moment as well, but her body was growing ever impatient. "More," she decided on ambiguously, hoping that Emily would have a new height to take her on.

Emily's eyes flickered up to take in Naomi's pleasured expression, a hint of impatient anticipation in the way she hung onto every electric sensation Emily fed through her. Biting her lip, she wasted no time in descending even farther along Naomi's torso, quick kisses trailing down to Naomi's navel as her fingers paid proper tribute to Naomi's neglected breast. She could feel the tautness of Naomi's stomach against her lips, enough tension there to strum a tune out were the thread of her desire an instrument. In fact, strumming sounded like just the thing ; she was certain she could make Naomi sing.

The hand at Naomi's hip fell to press against Naomi's thigh, opening her legs to her before Emily's lips left Naomi's stomach in favor of between her legs. She drew the length of her middle finger up the part of Naomi's lips before splaying them open. Before the draft of the chilly night could set upon her clit, Emily's tongue was restoring the heat radiating from her with eager, familiarizing laps.

If Naomi hadn't just told Emily to be quiet moments ago she might have had some brevity to stand on when the sound which echoed out of her at Emily's tongue against her clit made her cry out. However, she was certain she heard a laugh reverberate against her as Emily's mouth brought about brand new sensations she was certain were not at all possible. Clumsy hands had touched her before, and maybe a few slightly more skilled before him, but nothing so incredible as this. This was virginal and perfect, and it was everything she was so certain she didn't know she needed.

What was curious was that with each flick of Emily's tongue, and with each crescendo of her own voice, the actual feeling of all the nerves dancing amongst her core couldn't compare to how Emily made her feel in the center of her being. Her heart was swelling to the point where she was certain she would burst. And after a few more seconds, that's precisely what she did.

Biting down hard onto her hand to muffle the scream, Naomi came against Emily's lips, far sooner than she would have liked. But in her descent, tears fell from her eyes, unable to keep themselves at bay. Her heart was beating so fast she was certain she could power the Titanic below with its pressuring rhythms. And just as certain as she was that her body was still on fire from what Emily had just done to her, she needed to taste it as well. Her hands reached down and cupped Emily's jaw as she raised the woman to her kiss and buried her tongue deep, drinking in the intoxicating sweet and sour zest that was Emily's lips and her own desire spilled across them.

Their breath mingled with one another as Naomi rested her forehead against Emily's after a moment and pondered aloud, "How was that possible?" The question was one filled with reverence and marvel in Naomi's eyes, and she hoped it would fall as it was intended on Emily's ears.

Emily beamed, noting that Naomi had hardly broken a sweat as their foreheads remained touching. Something to be remedied for sure, but all in due time. "Should I take you through a play by play? See if we can't figure it out?" she murmured in a cheeky husk, tracing her tongue along her bottom lip to savor the last lingering evidence of Naomi's pleasure.

Naomi, still undoubtedly coming down from her high, took her time to answer, every passing second reminding Emily that this had only been an appetizer in a feast she was eager to get on with. Her hand stroked up and down Naomi's side, each repetition finding her hands traveling lower and lower until the temptation was too much. Pressing her lips to the pulse of Naomi's neck, Emily eased up atop Naomi just enough to bring her hand between them, curling her middle finger once more into the wet warmth of Naomi's folds. Drawing from the wet of her opening, Emily pressed idle circles against Naomi's clit, falling gradually back into the pace her tongue had set. Naomi trembled beneath her, clutching at her hair and shoulders as Emily undid the peaceful waters that had only just begun to settle.

She parted from Naomi's neck to bring her lips to the woman's ear, not so much asking as pleading as she murmured, "Take me inside you?"

With one hand bringing Emily's gaze back to her own, the other set of fingers traced down the inside of Emily's arm as her hand silently agreed to the answer which radiated in her eyes. When she felt Emily's hand beneath hers, she pressed Emily's fingers inside of her. They both nearly collapsed as Naomi's arms clutched around Emily's shoulders, pulling the woman close, aching to be as close as possible as they melded together. But soon as Emily was buried deep within her, she froze. "What is it, what's wrong?" she asked, momentarily panicking. Seeing the concern on Emily's face, she turned Emily toward her again, "Emily..."

"Nothing, nothing is wrong," Emily insisted, but still she did not move. "It's curious, that's all." Naomi practically balked at the word choice.

"Curious? At a time like _this_? _Curious_?!" She was losing patience, but she wanted this to be perfect, or as perfect as it could be. It all, for some reason, felt tremendously dire in it's importance, so she paused and took a breath. "Tell me..." Emily searched Naomi's face, her eyes drawing down around the woman beneath her.

"I am just a bit surprised that...I'm not your first..."

_Oh_.

"How can you tell?" Emily's smile wavered a bit as she glanced in between them.

"Three deep for what would be most women's first time?" Emily cleared her throat and tried to visibly shake it off by starting to continue. "I'm sorry. That's not fair for me to assume. Fredrick's one lucky guy." Naomi's hand darted between them as she stopped Emily from moving, looking right back into Emily's eyes with a ferocity she did not know she possessed. Which for Naomi Campbell was most certainly saying something.

"It doesn't matter," she insisted, "you are all I want now."

The words did not bear repeating. Naomi said them with every fiber of her being and though Emily now knew what she did, though it mattered just a few seconds before, all that mattered now was that she made them both forget. If only for an evening.

Giving her fingers a slow curl, she felt Naomi's hand leave hers in favor of her shoulder once again. She held Naomi's gaze, uncurling, curling, uncurling again, until Naomi's voice broke her from the stall she thought she had overcome. "Emily . . ." The woman beneath her rocked into her fingers, taking her in deeper, clutching at her to the point of nearly lifting her own weight from the ground as she did everything to feel Emily's thrust.

_So this isn't her first. It still might be your last _. . .

"Naomi," Emily echoed, bringing her down turned gaze to lock with Naomi's, anchoring in her eyes, casting away her doubt and selfish disappointment in the sea of blue before her. Reawakening to the pulse about her fingers, concentrating on nothing else but the woman before her, Emily began to move in and out of Naomi. First slowly, but very quickly escalating, Naomi's body not needing a tentative pace, but an honest one, driven by the same passion that thrust Emily into her life in the first place. The irrefutable need to know Naomi, outside and in.

Shifting her torso downward, Emily situated herself to bear Naomi's thighs upon her shoulders, transferring her balance to her calves to free her arms for nothing else but pulling Naomi deeper, closer, further. Her ears were ablaze with the symphony of moans and cries that poured freely from Naomi's hoarse throat, almost making up for the absence of the bite of Naomi's fingernails drawing across her back.

Naomi's hands clutched desperately at Emily's knees, needing anything to keep her grounded in the passionate thrusts moving in and out of her. She wanted to keep her eyes open, to see everything that was happening, but everything was too overwhelming, too powerful, and her eyes squinted shut as she felt her orgasm rising. This one much more powerful than the first, and certainly...nothing which she had experienced before, even moments ago. She knew she could not keep quiet and just tugged at the hope that no one would be around to hear.

With a loud cry of Emily's name, Naomi crashed over the edge, breaking through her orgasm as swiftly as the Atlantic beneath her. And making Emily just as wet in the process.

Her head filled with nothing and everything simultaneously. And it all was Emily, down to the very pulse against the back of her eardrums, which was the only thing that anchored her soul to her body and her body to its gravitational pull.

_To __**my**__ Emily_...

As her senses slowly returned, the manifesting, soothing caress of Emily's free hand stroked the lining of her face, gently and tenderly kissing any area that her lips could reach. It was a calming, freeing sensation. One that she was so incredibly sad was fading. Finally able to open her eyes after a few moments, she stammered out, "You make me feel things...I've never...not once...I-" At a loss now, and certain she wouldn't be able to find the right words even if she was given the opportunity, she slowly began to sit up, Emily still inside of her.

Slowly she pulled Emily's hand from where it was buried, wincing the tiniest bit at how tight her inner walls had become in the quake of her orgasm. Rising to her knees, she pulled Emily toward her, skin against skin, kissing the woman deeply as her hand wandered beneath Emily's knickers, and Emily gasped when Naomi found her intended target. "And apparently I've made you feel a few things as well," she replied cheekily as she grinned at Emily's wetness.

Seating herself before her, she slowly removed Emily's underwear as her hand awkwardly tried to continue and play with what she had recently found and discovered. It felt different, doing to another woman what she'd only occasionally done for herself. But with Emily...it never felt strange. Finally freeing the woman of her remaining garment, she widened Emily's stance from where she knelt as she urged her with the back of her fingertips at Emily's thighs to seat herself in her lap. "You may have to coach me through, but I'm willing to try...if you want me to..."

"I do," Emily stated without hesitance, more than happy to comply with the wordless will of Naomi's guiding touch as she straddled the taller woman. Brushing Naomi's hair back and behind her ears with loving care, Emily closed her eyes and bit her lip, visualizing the motions Naomi played against her, goosebumps erupting along her arms and neck at the sensuality of guiding her own pleasure. "You can press a little more . . ." she murmured, eyes still closed. A particular jolt of electricity as Naomi made her adjustment sent Emily's hand flying to anchor itself at the woman's shoulder. She opened her eyes briefly to see a thrilled smile tug at Naomi's otherwise pursed lips. Emily moved her hips in tandem to Naomi's touch, showing off the pattern before putting the instruction to words, "Draw your fingerti-aah. Yes, like that . . ."

It wasn't long before Naomi had Emily speechless for lack of instruction to give. Emily could practically feel the difference in Naomi's confidence as she continued to build her with attentive care, correcting and continuing based solely off of Emily's response. Though she was certain if anyone had been nearby they would have heard Naomi first, Emily muffled her own growing moans against Naomi's lips, trimmed nails burying against her scalp and shoulders as her legs began to tremble. With a tug of Naomi's lip, Emily rocked her hips upward, forcing Naomi's fingers to fumble and slip lower than they had yet dared to explore. With Naomi so close, Emily could practically feel her insides reaching out to draw Naomi in. "You won't hurt me . . ." Emily moaned, lips millimeters from Naomi's.

With a swallow to ready her nerves, but trusting that her reading of Emily's indicators were correct, Naomi pressed deeper, and they both gasped as Naomi's fingers filled the woman atop her. It was transcending to be a giver of pleasure in this way. And it made Naomi's heart race for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening. Apparently when she was with Emily her body was channeling the spirit of a gallant, world class thoroughbred. "Like this?" Naomi couldn't help but ask. Emily's eyes were closed but she nodded all the same. Wrapping her arm around Emily's waist to steady her, Naomi shifted them just the tiniest bit so that she could really feel what she was doing.

"Curl your fingers but not too, mu-mah-ah," Emily's grip on Naomi's shoulders tightened as her back curved downward and her legs trembled.

"Bad?" Naomi asked. Emily's eyes opened, her irises practically gone amongst the blackened pupils.

"No good," she insisted through a husky laugh, "very good."

It was a delicate balance to maintain, allowing Naomi to go at her own pace while simultaneously spurring her on with the roll and press of her own hips, but the consciousness of it all held its own seduction. She was both lost and present, guiding and lead, and there wasn't a single demand she would make different except for . . . "I need more, Naomi. I need three." A hiccup in Naomi's rhythm brought Emily's hand to the nape of her neck, massaging there as she slowed her own back and forth. Kissing Naomi's forehead, she remained still as she murmured patiently, "Nearly pull out, join your fingers . . . Do exactly as you did before." She met Naomi's gaze and gave her a small nod, lips parting in a silent gasp as Naomi filled her once more.

Biting her lip bloodless, Emily started up the rhythm they had briefly abandoned, head arching back as the pleasure from two to three intensified tenfold. She feared her control would be lacking from here on out, unable to stop the varying bucks and deepened thrusts that gripped her as her body's craving for release hijacked her mind. "Whatever you do . . ." Emily panted, clutching Naomi's face between her palms as she looked her dead in the eye. Even at this distance, Naomi was beginning to blur in the haze of her mounting orgasm. "Don't. Stop."

Naomi thrust harder and faster, knowing she would have no control over the slow rhythm which she had previously tried to harness. Emily's pulsing walls made her own contract as the pressure simultaneously brought her clit to an almost painful throb. But it just made her push all the harder, ever more insistent. It wasn't until she felt Emily's orgasm intensify that she briefly wondered if her own body's reactions would betray her, and she would follow her over the edge. "Tu es belle..." she whispered although she was certain Emily could not hear her amongst her ever growing vocals.

Emily's hands flew from Naomi's face to grip down her back, conscious enough even in mid-orgasm to not mar a single centimeter of Naomi's gorgeously flushed face. Her body quaked, her walls convulsed and Naomi's name flew from her lips in a gravelly gasp. The slow righting of her head, which she had thrown back in the burst of her climax, was a rough indication of the pace of her come down, her skin and muscles still leaping at the fire still erratically coursing through her bloodstream, less and less with every passing minute. When she opened her eyes, they shone with astonished emotion, welling but never dropping a tear.

"Are you sure you've never done this before?" Emily asked with an impressed laugh, hardly giving Naomi a window to answer before she showered Naomi's lips in sweet, thankful kisses.

Naomi beamed back at Emily as the smaller girl quivered above her. "You're trembling," she admitted quietly, utterly moved by the tears she saw in Emily's eyes and more than certain they mirrored her own.

"You're gay," Emily shot back with an impish smirk.

Withdrawing herself from within Emily she gave the girl a grin of her own as she countered, "And more than ready to find out just how much...if you think you have the stamina..."

Emily's eyes flashed with a playful indignation that carried into her delighted smile. Without warning, she wrapped her arms around Naomi's neck and pulled the woman atop her as she fell back upon the carpet. Looking up at her adoringly, Emily glanced down along her own body in suggestion. "Try me, Miss Campbell."

* * *

_**Ch. 11 Post Date 4/11**_


	11. April 14th 1912 11:20 PM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): Like a bullet from a gun, this is the chapter that changes the entire plot of the story, the moment everyone has, or has not, been waiting for. Ready to see how we do it differently? We certainly hope you are.**

_**"My friend Clinch Smith made the proposition that we should leave and go toward the stern. But there arose before us from the decks below a mass of humanity several lines deep converging on the Boat Deck facing us and completely blocking our passage to the stern. There were women in the crowd as well as men and these seemed to be steerage passengers who had just come up from the decks below. Even among these people there was no hysterical cry, no evidence of panic. Oh the agony of it." -Colonel Archibald Gracie, Titanic Survivor**_

* * *

**4/14/1912 11:20 PM**

Finally, after hours and touches and kisses and marks had passed between them, and she found herself completely and utterly spent, Naomi draped her torso with the covering of the nearby long sleeved shirt. Emily made a pouting noise but all Naomi did was tug at the trousers Emily had put on moments before. "These are far more offensive," she replied with a grin as she began to button.

"That's certainly a matter of opinion," Emily corrected as she sat up from where she had been laying and slipped a finger in between the buttons. "One last peak," she urged, but Naomi playfully batted at her hand.

"It's not like you won't have the chance to see them again," Naomi combated. Emily's hand stilled and slowly sunk down to rest on Naomi's thigh. There was a stiffness in the touch, undoubtedly from Naomi's remark, and no sooner was she about to ask if she had touched a nerve than there was a startling echo from nearby. Emily's head spun around as she motioned toward the door.

"Hurry," she insisted as she threw on her own shirt and grabbed her coat. Naomi clumsily scrambled into her pants, and before they were fastened over her waist Emily was pulling at the fabric of her shirt to lead her into a corner to hide. A few seconds later a steward entered, and with a click his flashlight beamed across the span of the room.

_This is thrilling_, Naomi thought, and the excitement gave way to a huge grin. As if she could sense the oncoming chuckle in the back of Naomi's throat, Emily's hand draped over Naomi's mouth to keep the other girl from revealing their hiding spot. The two of them watched cautiously as the steward stepped further into the room. Once he was buried from view, Emily took Naomi's hand and quietly led them toward the door. Remnants of storage littered their entire path and they had to bob and weave more than once, crouching low so as not to be seen before they reached the door. Without a hint of detection they slipped past the already cracked metal door before Naomi let out the laugh she'd been holding in for the last several minutes, Emily's smile beaming in kind.

But perhaps they should have moved away from the door first.

Seconds later, the door swung open behind them, the steward placing a firm hand on both sets of shoulders. "What were you two doing in there?" he bellowed. Emily stole a glance to Naomi who still hadn't lost any of the wattage of her smile, and just as Naomi's heel came down hard onto the steward's toe, Emily clutched onto Naomi's wrist and hurled them down the hallway, the poor steward hobbling slowly behind them.

Emily led them through the passageways with ease, causing Naomi to momentarily wonder how often she'd had time to explore the hallways within the confines of the ship. But it was only brief pondering because a few seconds later they were topside, gasping and clutching to one another as they continued toward the far end of the ship. It was strikingly cold, colder than it had been any other night. Which would explain the mostly deserted deck as they continued to lightly jog now past the deck chairs and the thinner promenades full of lounging equipment. Finally, sure they were no longer being followed, the pair paused to look back. And almost immediately Emily dissolved into a fit of giggles.

It was if a bolt of lightening had struck her. Looking at Emily in the soft glow of the ship's lighting, completely decorated by the stars above and the lull of the ocean below, Naomi suddenly didn't care about the chill of the night any longer. All she saw was what was right in front of her, the sweet, beautiful woman in front of her who moments ago practically transcended her past the depths of the Atlantic itself. And in basking in the rays of Emily's smile, she herself became warm. Warm throughout. And a little bit frightened. But certainly not enough to be anywhere else, in any other time.

_I don't want to see any other face for a long as I live. This is it. It's her. It's Emily. But...but the consequences could...the consequences could get to fuck_.

Emily's hands rested on either side of her waist, her lithe strong arms clinging to her tenderly. "Cold?" she asked. Naomi shook her head, resting her hands on either side of Emily's shoulders. Peering down at the stern, she recognized the exact spot where they stood and nodded in its general direction. "This is where we first met," she mused. Emily looked about them, but her eyes quickly fell back onto Naomi as if she were asking, 'and your point being?' before Naomi's lips seized her in a powerful kiss. In the open. Where anyone could see. She wanted them all to see.

When she released Emily from her lips, she placed her cool hands to Emily's flushed cheeks. Slowly, the woman in her embrace opened her eyes and as she did so, Naomi stilled herself, and with the warmest, kindest sincerity she could muster said, "When the ship docks, I'm getting off with you. And it may be the craziest suggestion, the most insane assumption, and it may not make any sense, but this..." she placed her lips tenderly atop Emily's forehead and whispered against them, "...I trust this."

Though not the first time this night, Emily found herself speechless. This had been her fantasy the second she had clasped her hand in Naomi's that potentially grave night. Even then, she hadn't wanted to let go of Naomi for fear that the woman would fall into one ocean or another, be it frozen waters or frigid society. But Emily had lived the other side of the fence. She had let her family leave her behind, ran away in pursuit of her heart . . . nearly starved, nearly died, but always _alive_ while she flirted with death. And now Naomi wanted to take that same leap and for the first time, Emily fully understood why her sister had wrenched the charm from her neck and lobbed it at Emily's feet the day Emily stated her intentions. People died this way. People disappeared, never to be found, their names nothing but words carried on a wind that never ceased blowing, lost in the roar of a billion more. Naomi was asking to die with Emily. But she was also asking to live.

"Naomi . . ." Emily's voice carried an edge of caution as she pulled back, but the snare of Naomi's eyes caught her naysaying like nightmares in a dreamcatcher, tangling her fears until they almost seemed ludicrous in their ineffectual knots. Why was she considering becoming just another no in Naomi's life? Was the woman before her not more radiant, more happy, more vibrant now than she was before this revelation? Would she really let go of Naomi to send her plunging into even blacker waters than the ones she had pulled her from? _Never_.

"God bless America," Emily murmured, leaning in to press her lips to Naomi's before the words were fully spoken, the last syllables dancing between their kiss. Her arms wrapped tight about Naomi's neck, the heels of her feet lifting from the ground as she balanced on tip-toe to be as flush to Naomi as possible. When she finally came down, both from the balls of her feet and the implications of Naomi's testament, three better words sprung to mind. Three words she had thought a dozen times before, but kept tucked just beneath her sleeve. "I love you."

There was a bell. A bell was ringing in the distance. In the far distance. It hadn't stopped since Emily had placed her lips to hers. And now it was a continued faded echo which slid into the air of the night as Naomi froze. Of all the things Naomi had expected to hear, for some reason there wasn't a long enough pause in the entire world to have prepared her for those words. Naomi's eyes grew, and her mouth gaped open just the tiniest bit as her rapidly firing brain tried to not only process what she just heard, but to come up with some sort of-

-she was on her back. A tremendous force from beneath them had shook her to the ground. A terrifying force, one so strong that it had been enough to land two fully vertical people onto their backs. Seconds later, Naomi saw it. Cascading alongside the right side of the ship was the largest block of ice she had ever seen up close. Remnants of it scattered along the side of the ship's deck as Emily helped Naomi back to her feet, before they stood utterly transfixed by the scale of the thing. It was beautiful. And terrifying.

"Did we-we hit that," Emily said, her breathing rapid and her eyes darting between Naomi and the ice.

"This isn't good, is it?" she asked, pulling Emily close as she noticed the few people alongside the ship's deck were coming toward the bow to take a gander at what was now passing across into the distance. Panic gripped her, and a hint of disgust as well, as the people aboard brushed by seamlessly, not seeming to notice or care that what they had just experienced could potentially be dangerous. Naomi's free hand now found the crook of Emily's arm as the smaller woman tapped the top of it lightly, pulling Naomi's attention back to her.

Nearby there were two little boys who had found a large piece of the ice and were kicking it back and forth. Emily and Naomi watched them play for several seconds, eerily mesmerized by how innocent the game seemed. And how out of place it all appeared to be. "It's colder now," Naomi said in a quiet whisper, Emily turning to her and rubbing the taller woman's arms.

"Should we go inside?" Emily asked. Naomi blinked, trying to re-focus. Finally she shook her head and released a heavy sigh.

"I'm just being stupid," she said in a whisper, rolling her eyes just as Emily glanced over her shoulder. Two large men dressed in blue walked right past them, very quickly, and were mumbling to themselves, both with faces as white as the iceberg itself.

"Smell ice, can ya?" The thick accent of one of them carried as he gave his compatriot a shove. "Bleedin' Christ." Emily's eyes bore back into Naomi as she gave the woman before her a slow shake of her head.

"No. No you're not," Emily insisted, as she pulled Naomi closer. "Let's go find someone, ok?" As if on cue, a familiar Irish timber floated into Naomi's ears. Waving a hand in his general direction, Naomi tried to attract the attention of Thomas Andrews as he walked alongside Captain Smith, Mr. Ismay, Mr. Murdoch and a few other crew members.

"Mr. Andrews!" Naomi beckoned, but her call went unheeded as the group of men passed down from the Captain's cabin and into the ship. Clenching at Naomi's hand, Emily began to inquire,

"Do you think we should-"

"We should," Naomi insisted, finally allowing a wave of bravery take hold. Just as long as she held tight to Emily's hand. She could do this as long as that anchor remained firm. As if she could sense Naomi's train of thought, Emily's fingers laced with Naomi's as they rushed to catch up with the crew. As soon as they were below deck, they heard the rustling of papers as voices leaked from just inside the telecommunications door.

Naomi and Emily quietly crept along the side of the wall until they both were in range to hear what was transpiring.

"Water has flooded fourteen feet above keel in all three hulls and breaker room six," Mr. Andrews' thick Irish accent explained to a deathly still room, "And five of the boiler rooms. She can stay afloat with four of the boiler rooms flooded but not five. Not five," he added as if it were a nail in the coffin.

"What. . ." Emily exhaled the word in a whisper that chilled Naomi's blood.

"As she goes down, water will start flooding from E deck, so on, and so forth, there's no stopping it," Mr. Andrews finished, just as Captain Smith interrupted in an abysmal, slightly eager tone,

"The pumps? What if we open those?"

"The pumps buy you time. But minutes only," Mr. Andrews countered. "From this point on...no matter what we do...Titanic will flounder." The entire room drew still as Naomi slid down the side of the wall, her hand clasping over her mouth as she held in a gasp. Emily's hands rested on her shoulders as they could do nothing but continue to listen.

"This ship can't sink!" came the loud, obnoxious cry of Bruce Ismay.

"She's made of iron sir, I assure you she can," was Mr. Andrews sarcastic reply. Though there didn't seem to be a hint of malice in his words, only the oncoming break of sorrow.

"How much time?" Captain Smith asked, all hope now evacuated from the low timber of his voice.

"An hour. Two at most." Naomi let out a tiny squeak, Emily's hand pressing atop hers to stifle any more noise as a tear rolled down Naomi's shut eyes.

"And how many souls on board, Mr. Murdoch?" Captain Smith asked.

"2,200 souls on board." Naomi's eyes opened as her previously clutched hand turned outward from her lips and wrapped around Emily's palm.

"We need to find Fredrick and Mum and warn them. Now," she urged in a whisper only Emily could hear. The smaller girl let out a long sigh as she hefted Naomi to her feet with a nod. Stealthily, they both snuck off down the hall as the final sentence from Captain Smith was uttered,

"I believe you may get your headline, Mr. Ismay."

* * *

Emily led them as best as memory served towards Naomi's quarters, finding it easier for the both of them to be their momentum; the color in Naomi's face had all but drained, no doubt in concern for the well-being of her ignorant mother and fiance. Though Emily was reluctant to bring them back outside onto the deck, she knew if she could get them down the grand staircase, finding Fredrick and Gina would happen all the sooner.

As bizarre as it had been seeing the casually curious faces of the uninformed passengers earlier, now the sight was simply chilling - quite literally. Every face they passed, Emily could not help but picture it the palest shade of blue, eyebrows and hair frosted with the frozen waters of the Atlantic. After the fifth pair of eyes she met in her hurried navigation - a child of seven, maybe eight - Emily could not bear it anymore.

"None of them know," she choked on the welling of guilt and fear in her throat. She wanted to tell them, all of them. To use what little breath she had to spare to yell everything they had just overheard, but she knew it was a fruitless effort. And counterproductive to securing the safety of Naomi and her family first. Her eyes pricked with tears that quickly turned from hot to cold and though she could have swiped them away, she found her blurried vision helped her pass each unsuspecting, future body count, sparing her the details of another face she'd no doubt see in nightmares to come - were she to even have another to speak of.

The glass dome of the grand staircase glowed with a starkly warm constrast against the black night, like a beacon promising warmth and safety. Emily had nearly convinced herself that if she could just feel her shoes pounding down the steps that they could make good time and reach topside again with Fredrick and Gina in tow. And good time meant seats on lifeboats that were far too few. _Everything's going to work out . . . Somehow, everything is going to work out. Just keep mov_-

"You!" Emily had been so preoccupied that she hadn't even given thought to the fact that the security about the first class deck was not only thicker, but considerably more alert in the wake of the hit-and-run. Before she could pinpoint which white suit had bellowed the word she instinctively knew indicated her, vice-like fingers were snagging the collar of her coat, yanking it up to the point where Emily nearly felt her weight leave the ground, the circulation in her arms cut off by the strain of fabric at her armpits. She felt Naomi's hand leave hers, heard and felt Naomi batter at the restraining arm at her back before a surprising duet of "stop!" left hers and her captor's lips.

Outside of twisting and turning to try and face Naomi, Emily had ceased struggling the second she sensed it was futile. Even if she could break away from this incredibly strong man, dozens of others littered the staircase she had so blindly barrelled towards. And of those dozens, a handful were already laying witness to her ensnarement. Breaking toes would only get her maybe five feet forward before another set of arms would subdue her.

Before she could ask why she was being detained, she felt the grip on her collar shift, twisting the inner fabric outward, and a sickening huff of warm breath down her back as her captor leaned in to read the ink on the designer's tag.

"What's your name, girl?" the man asked, resecuring his grip but letting up on the tug as he stepped into Emily's vision. Naomi circled to her other side, not a single hand on her, though a few White Star Line employees seemed to watch and hover anxiously about them. Naomi's narrowed scowling no doubt increased that berth by another few inches.

"Emily . . ." her mind raced for something upperclass in the hopes that maybe she could pass as the niece of some rich uncle, but it did not race fast enough. In her stall, judgment had already been passed.

"Ryerson was the answer you were looking for," the man, a Mr. King, master-of-arms according to his nametag and decorations, said simply, releasing Emily completely to place himself directly in front of her, edging Naomi further away. "Remove the coat, please."

Emily did as told, remorseful eyes remaining on Naomi up until the passing of the coat into Mr. King's waiting palm. She watched as he dusted what she could only assume was her perceived filth from the coat, smoothing it across his arm before rifling through the pockets. His brow furrowed as he found and produced the luggage key, holding it up to the light for inspection before his hardened eyes fell onto Emily. "Two women dressed as men were reported leaving the room this key belongs to." Emily shook her head, a motion that only increased in desperation as his eyes left her to land on Naomi, taking in her tattered trousers and Fredrick's button-down.

"It was my idea! All of it! She didn't know where I was taking her to!" Emily half-pleaded, half-yelled to a wholly uninterested Mr. King as the man caught the eyes of the awaiting security and nodded for their apprehension of Naomi. "Campbell! She's a Campbell! Check your register!"

"And as Miss Naomi Campbell who holds a first class ticket on this ship, I demand that you let her go!" Naomi insisted, finding her voice now amongst all the addtional ensuing chaos before her eyes.

_This is absurd, this can't be happening...and not __**now**__. For the love of __**God**__, not now!_

Mr. King glowered at Naomi, just as there was a tap on Naomi's shoulder. "Miss Campbell," the kind voice of John Jacob Astor said, eyeing the situation before him in a state of bewilderment, "What's going on here?"

"Oh, Mr. Astor, tell them who I am, tell them who my fiance is, they have to let Emily go!" she cried, looking between Mr. Astor and Mr. King in kind, and only in a whirlwind glance catching the crumbling look of hurt on Emily's face.

"Fiance?" Emily repeated, the word sounding like it had come from a whipped dog. Naomi's expression softened and just as she was about to reach for Emily, Mr. King's grip intensified.

"If you want to speak for your friend you can do so when we dock at New York in a few days. She'll be taken to the local jail for questioning." Naomi practically tore toward the man, hands out and claws ready to marr, but she was easily stopped by the large, broad man beside her.

"If you don't let her go-!" she cried but Mr. Astor's hands were on her shoulders, pushing Naomi back as they handcuffed Emily's hands behind her back. A small whimper escaped Naomi's lips as she watched, Emily's own eyes remained locked on her, apparently on the verge of tears. "It can't end like this," she whispered so quietly she wasn't even sure Mr. Astor could have overheard her.

"We'll go find Fredrick, Naomi. He'll be able to help," he tried to assure her. But nothing could help the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched them lead Emily toward the other end of the staircase and farther and farther away down...down...down...

With a long inhale to steady her nerves, Naomi clenched and unclenched her fists as she nodded at Mr. Astor. "I'll see to it," Naomi said, her voice level and uncharacteristically calm, "thank you for your help, JJ." Turning on her heel, she marched toward the entrance that led to her state room, all but running toward the only man she hoped would understand...whom she hoped would help...and who would do so like his boots were on fire.

_Emily doesn't have a lot of time..._

* * *

_**Ch. 12 Post Date: 4/13**_


	12. April 15th 1912 12:30 AM

**Author's Note (ItFeelsSoWrite): In lieu of a sobering quote, I'd like to take this time to direct extra credit to Whedonite, who wrote a majority of this fantastically frantic chapter. Much like the events unfolding, our fast-approaching finale is almost nigh. We thank you for setting sail with us, even knowing how history goes. Because it really is the journey; the story you tell along the way.**

* * *

**04/15/1912 12:30 A.M.**

The walk alone back to her stateroom was one of the longest Naomi had ever experienced. Though she cleared each step at a brisk pace, her mind was racing ever still, all the while she seemed to be doing so through murky water. Frozen water. Another frightened chill cascaded down her spine as she made her way to the hallway she and Fredrick shared. And she found herself pausing in the midst of her urgency. Just for a moment. For she realized this was going to be a defining moment in her life, for the rest of her life, and it was about to go to hell in a hand basket. Only the thought of Emily allowed her to turn the knob and face her...former...fiance head on.

_Maybe if I get it all out as fast as I can it will be easier. Rip the seal from the wound_.

Storming through the door, Naomi was surprised to find both her mother and Fredrick in the sitting room of the lounge. But her shock was short lived as she began rambling off as fast as she could. "Emily's been arrested. We have to get her released. It's been an egregious misunderstanding." Fredrick remained immobile, as if the news came as no surprise to him. His eyes flickered down Naomi's frame just once before his jaw tightened. Naomi turned then to her mother who was clearly still waking up from some sort of medicated daze, no doubt she had been asleep moments before.

Shutting the door behind her, Naomi urgently approached Fredrick as she continued, "Emily and I were above deck. Together. And yes together in the sense that you always feared, in the sense that you somehow always knew that my peculiarity wasn't just a buck against society. I'm willing to admit that aloud and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Freddie, but there isn't the time to discuss any of it right now. We saw the ship hit an ice berg. An iceberg the size of Bristol itself." Taking a long inhale, Naomi continued, her pitch and pace increasing the more terrified she let herself become by her own words, "We followed the captain down to his quarters and we overheard them say the ship was going to sink." Still Fredrick remained immobile, nothing about his demeanor or expression changed apart from the onset of tears on the brim of his eyes. Naomi tried to ignore them, angered by his stoicism in the face of what she was telling him. "Why aren't you saying anything? Don't you understand? The water is freezing and there aren't enough lifeboats on this ship, half the people here are going to die, and I can't let Emily be one of them!"

"Emily's been arrested?" Gina chimed in.

Freddie stared down his fiance, the haunted look on his face was so unfamiliar to Naomi that it caused a slight tremble to wade through her. It was as if he hardly knew her. _But you've known Freddie. You've known all along. We were both just too afraid to admit it. You wanted to love me too much_. She was about to speak her mind when Fredrick cleared his throat, and stared down at the table beneath them, clearly unable to look at either of the two women in the room as she finally said,

"Gina, a crew member stopped by before you woke. He told us to make our way to the top deck. I didn't want to go until Naomi returned. No one had seen her, you see, and I didn't want to disturb you until it was necessary. It is now necessary. Go and find your coat." Gina stared between her daughter and future son in law for a moment, assessing but not fully acknowledging the situation before she disappeared into the bedroom. As soon as she was gone, Naomi took a few steps closer to Fredrick, urgent, worried fear settling between them in spite of her persistence.

"You're not going to-"

"Take. Off. My. Clothes," Fredrick demanded in the coldest tone she had ever heard him use.

"What?" A tear fell from Fredrick's cheek as his hands ripped the coat from Naomi's shoulders. "Stop it, Freddie, stop it!" she cried, practically petrified of what she knew he would find if he searched his pockets. As if summoned from the ether through thought alone, the drawing fell from where it had previously rested, quietly to the ground like a gun shot. Kneeling slowly, Fredrick picked up the foreign piece of paper. "Freddie-" Naomi spoke his name with a drape of futility because once it was opened, there was nothing Naomi could say. This wasn't how she wanted him to find out. Fredrick was a good man. It wasn't his fault Naomi was who she was. She wanted to sit down and console him, tell him it was better this way, before they married and ruined one another forever, perhaps with a hopeful goodbye that would lead to friendship down the line. Not like this. Not in some rush of life or death bete noire. But she couldn't hold back the crack of a sob as she watched his face break and fall as he opened the piece of parchment and examined it. "Freddie..." she tried again, but was just as stilled as before.

Fredrick placed the coat he had removed from Naomi's back onto the sofa, draping it over the part where Naomi had recently rested her head. He then folded Emily's drawing twice over and placed it into his inner breast jacket pocket. "What are you doing?" Naomi demanded, "that's mine you can't-"

"Wrong, Naomi. Wrong. I can." Freddie's cheeks were stained with tears now. It was baffling. Naomi had never seen him like this. It was the first time she understood the gravity with which he loved her. It just made this harder. Trying to take a breath to calm her hysterical nerves which were fraying finer and finer by the second, Naomi added,

"We can talk about this, Freddie, we can just-just help me get to Emily. If they came by wanting us to go top side then you know I'm telling you the truth, the ship is sinking." Freddie's gaze didn't falter from hers for a moment and just as he opened his mouth, Gina entered from the bedroom. Neither woman could find anything to say. Eerily, Naomi just...knew her mother had figured enough of it out, pieced it all together.

"We should go," Gina stated. And to Naomi's surprise, Fredrick added,

"Yes. We should," as he crossed to the door and held it open for them both. He allowed Naomi to step through before he followed behind them, not taking time to worry about the lock. Naomi was about to turn left to head below deck but Fredrick turned right, to go up.

"Wait, no, we have to-" Fredrick pointed down the hall, his eyes burning as he zeroed in on Naomi and said with a calmness that curdled Naomi's blood,

"This. Way." Naomi looked from Fredrick to her mother and back again.

_Get mum to a lifeboat. Then I'll worry about Emily. Even if he won't help me_. Conceding that at least for a moment there was nothing that she could do, and that she wouldn't stray far from the steps in the mean time, Naomi took her mother's arm and followed down the hallway, Fredrick two or three strides ahead of them.

* * *

**12:50 A.M.**

The top deck was filled with people, and while most of them appeared to be first class passengers, with the engulfed life belts completely covering the torsos of many, it was very difficult to tell which class was which from the faces alone. _It won't matter before long_, Naomi thought as she heard the cranks and turns of one of the life boats beginning to lower itself into the water below, replied with the cries of women and children not wanting to be removed from the arms of their husbands and fathers.

As they were passing another patch of people, Naomi heard an older woman cry, "I will not leave my husband! We are old, we've lived our whole lives together. He is mine and I will stay with him." Naomi stopped, halting herself and her mother in their tracks as Fredrick continued forward to search for a less crowded group. She watched as the elderly couple embraced, the man crying into the woman's shoulder to get on the boat, begging her not to stay. But she merely pressed his head into her breast and folded him against her as she moved out of the way so that a few more women could get on the boat.

Naomi knew then she didn't have a moment longer to waste. Every second she spent above deck, Emily was somewhere far below. Perhaps already in danger's way. Emily was her choice, and if the ship lowered itself into the Atlantic beneath them then..._No. Can't think like that. Not right now._ Turning to her mother, Naomi opened her mouth to say her goodbyes and to beg her mother to follow Fredrick to a life boat, but her mother beat her to the punch. "I'm not getting on," Gina insisted.

"Mum!" Naomi cried, trying to push her forward.

"You're going to go find Emily. And I'm going to help these men get women who have longer lives than mine onto these life boats. This is my Bohemia, dear. Let me live it." Naomi's bottom lip trembled as she wrapped her arms about Gina, pulling her close in the last embrace she knew they would ever share.

"Mummy, I-" Naomi whimpered, but Gina wrenched them apart, draping her hands lovingly over her daughters freezing cheeks.

"None of that. Go find her. And you both get to a lifeboat. Quickly now," she kissed Naomi's forehead firmly before she spun her around and pushed. Naomi's eyes shut as she stumbled forward, just for a moment,in an incoherent sob before they opened and guided her toward the steps, unable to look back.

_Thank you, mum_.

* * *

**1:00 A.M.**

As she charged down the steps, narrowly knocking over a few rising first class passengers, Naomi recognized a familiar voice. "Mr. Andrews!" she called. He didn't immediately turn to her as he was giving a nearby chambermaid a set of instructions, but on her second call of "Mr. Andrews!" the handsome, pepper haired man faced her, his smile at a gracious half and his eyes vacant and desolate. Naomi observed the lumbering grief with each step he took toward her, her heart breaking for the new friend she made, and was certain would lose if he kept up this endeavor of aiding the crew in their duties. But as his trembling hand clutched her arm gently, she knew his fate was sealed in his mind's eye.

The artist would be lowered beneath the ocean's surface with his beauteous creation.

She would have reached to hug his neck, but his stance lowered to her height as he wrapped his fingers lightly across her elbow and whispered in urgency, "Miss Campbell, you need to get above deck."

"Yes, I know, but-"

"You remember what I told you about the life boats?" he added, the caution in his voice only serving as a momentary balm to this brand new wound. Gently removing from his arm, Naomi placed her hands on his tall shoulders in order to aide him in focusing on her question.

"Mr. Andrews, where would the Master at Arms take someone under arrest?" His mouth gaped in an open 'O,' wholly aghast, but she merely squeezed his shoulders as she asked, yet again, "Where?"

"Miss Campbell-"

"I'm doing this with or without your help, Mr. Andrews," she said, her words defiant but not harsh at this point, "but without will take longer." Like the clock on the wall above the grand staircase which he had fashioned, Naomi watched as the hands within his mind ticked through which answer he should give her. Naomi's thumbs stroked the fabric of his jacket, beseeching him to answer her plea. The precious seconds which ticked away proved effective as with a heavy sigh, Mr. Andrews took her by the hand and led her toward the nearby staircase. Once they were at the top he instructed as clearly and precisely as he could,

"Take the elevator down to E deck, take a right, a left and down the long corridor."

"Thank you," Naomi said in a rush but before she could tear herself away from the man completely she heard him say in the saddest, most hallow voice she was certain had ever been spoken by another human being,

"I'm sorry I couldn't build you a better ship, Naomi." She paused for a second to place a quick kiss on the man's cheek and whisper,

"Good luck to you, Thomas," before she peeled down the stairs in a sprint.

As she raced through the debriefed course Mr. Andrews had given her, she passed by first class people who were still leisurely pacing the corridors. They were shadows now, not just in her haber-dashed mind but of this vessel as well. And Emily would be too if she did not find the-

-turning the last corner at the end of the hallway she spotted the lift, gated doors wide open. With no one to run the manually operated elevator. "Dammit," she mumbled to herself, stepping into the vacated box and reading the convoluted instructions just above the pulley. She pushed several buttons and turned the handle, but the most she could do was cause the thing to rattle a bit.

Relinquishing it as a waste of time, Naomi decided instead to look for the nearest staircase that would take her farther below deck. Luckily there was one nearby. Flying down one set of stairs only led her to another corridor. Which led her round about in a zig zagging pattern through the mostly deserted hallways. A few passengers were still scattered about, trying to figure out how to maneuver without there being some person who could speak their native tongue to guide them. A long corridor led her down B deck to its staircase. A shorter corridor led her to C deck and then to its adjoining staircase. She was breathing hard, perspiration seeping into her very skin as she found the entrance to D deck. She nearly collided with a family of immigrants who were trying desperately to translate an overhead sign to figure out how to make it to the top deck. She wanted to stop and help them, but the damp floor beneath her let her know she didn't have that kind of time.

A large ruckus from nearby, which was unsettling at best, was met with the large clanging of metal to metal. Wheeling around a corner, Naomi saw three stewards dressed in white standing behing a locked metal gate, blocking the entrance up from "E" deck. Men, women, and children were screaming to be let up. To have them a fighting chance. Scared to death of the water which the few who spoke English were bellowing was looming beneath them and slowly rising.

Naomi flushed herself against the wall, her heart hammering as her mind started to race.

_Goddammit. Goddamit, goddammit, goddammit. That means they'll have cut off all the exits. Emily's trapped. I have to find a way that's open_. Rushing past the top of the stairs as quietly as she could, she followed the arrows just above her head which would lead her down into E deck. Every staircase she came to was blocked off with the same damning black iron gates. She felt a sob start to take hold of her chest as hopelessness began to invade the strain of her efforts.

She was speeding through so fast that she almost missed it. A hanging axe in a case. Naomi's face broke into a tremendous smile as she picked up a nearby, discarded shoe and with all her might brought the heel slamming down into the glass, shattering it immediately. She yanked the weapon away, and descended down the nearest staircase. Using the momentum of her run to help her, she brought the axe down between the iron bars, severing the lock which held her at bay.

A joyous cheer erupted from the back of her throat as she began to head further down the stairs. But it was short lived as she saw how far the water had already started to rise. Taking a deep breath to brace herself for the oncoming cold, she took the final steps down and let out a shriek as the water came up immediately to her waist. Gripping hard to the axe, she managed to slowly push herself through the freezing onslaught, all the while, muttering through chattering teeth, "I'm coming, Emily...hang on...I'm coming..."

* * *

She was all alone. Had been the moment Mr. King had undone her cuffs, only to wrap her wrists about the nearest low-hanging pipeline to refasten them. He had muttered something about returning later on his way out, but his hesitation in the doorway and the hollowed look in his eyes as he glanced back at Emily suggested not even he believed the words leaving his mouth. He had to have known, somewhere, in some capacity, that the chaos just beginning to take hold on the ship was more founded than unfounded. Maybe he didn't know that he was locking her up to drown, but he didn't know if he wasn't, either.

"Mr. King! Please!" Emily had begged in one last breath of futility, but the words served more as a whip than a snare, sending him off like a startled beast in the haze of his doubtful guilt, leaving her free to do nothing else but familiarize herself with her tomb.

The room was set up as an office, a large, heavy oaken desk the centerpiece of an otherwise sparsely-furnished box of a room, only a cabinet and a few holding trunks lining the walls. From Emily's view of the single port window, she could physically watch the passage of time as the dark night sky slowly began to drown, the waters of the Atlantic lapping up against the double-thick glass until there were rivulets beginning to seep in from the seams. Emily couldn't bear to watch the water, but it would not be ignored. Wherever she looked wouldn't matter shortly; the icy waters did not need to be seen to be felt.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Emily began to summon up the faces of everyone she had ever loved. Admittedly, and despite her reckless abandon, Emily had always imagined she would die in the company of _someone_ who mattered. In that someone's absence, it was hard to prioritize who to say farewell to first. It took the icy chill of the Atlantic seeping into the soles of her shoes to stop the rapidly spinning wheel on what would have to be the first goodbye; time was no longer a luxury.

_Katie. You were right. I guess goodbye really was goodbye . . . I don't regret going. I just . . . wish I could have made you understand. Shown you everything that you'd never see. Share my life with you like I always wanted, not how you felt we should. It would have been a waste to take the same path . . . but I guess you'd argue this was a waste, too. I tried to make it back to you. More than anything, that's what I want you to know_. She didn't have much faith in God; to love herself and to love him seemed an impossible and needless trial, but she was not arrogant enough to believe she had generated her own luck these two decades past. Opening her eyes to the ceiling, she willed her thoughts to carry on the bitter wind. She wouldn't make it to America, she accepted that now, but maybe her thoughts would. Katie had never had difficulty reading them before.

Her feet had numbed in the time it took to sign and seal her silent prayer. Glancing down, Emily could see why. They were completely submerged now, the clear water lapping at her ankles. She could feel the physical divide between her dying and agonizingly alive nerves, the icy pains strongest in her calves despite the water's current level. Turning her eyes to the desk, Emily shuffled a rough 130 degrees around the pipe, grasping at it for balance as she lifted a shaky leg to step up on the smooth surface. The chain of her handcuffs screeched against the metal of the pipe as she hoisted herself up completely, sitting on her haunches to keep the wet from her shoes away from the rest of her otherwise dry body. The ice in her legs shifted to static fire as they began to warm from the effort, causing Emily to wince as she tried to put her mind back to farewells. Unfortunately, the eerie calm she had managed in the face of death had washed away with the first chilly breath of the approaching reaper.

_Fiance_ . . .she would have sobbed the word if it were spoken, but it instead ricocheted in her head until everything but the thought of Naomi was torn to shreds in its wake. _I never got to say goodbye to you . . . let alone Mrs. McClair. Talk about last words_. Suddenly, Emily could not find the point in saying goodbye. What she thought didn't matter. Everything she was to anybody, everything she'd remain to be . . . she'd made all her choices, said all her words. Nothing she could think in her last moments would comfort them. There was only herself left, the rising water at her feet the sand in the last turn of her hourglass. She didn't know if heaven existed elsewhere, but she knew exactly where to find it within herself.

Closing her eyes, unable to resist noting that the rising water was now halfway up the desk, Emily pushed away everything else but the words that had given her heart wings to soar:

_"When the ship docks, I'm getting off with you."_

"Emily."

Emily's eyes opened as the faint, almost ethereal sound of Naomi's voice filled her head. She held her breath, perking her ears for a repeat of the sound she wasn't sure she had heard or imagined. Nothing but the rushing waters and ghostly creaks of the straining ship answered her and so she closed her eyes again, Naomi's face coming alive in technicolor against her eyelids.

"You're giving up now? When I am finally yours?"

Naomi's voice filled her head again, Emily very nearly opening her eyes to search for the woman once more, but squeezing them shut in favor of hanging on to the figment in her mind.

"Naomi . . . What can I do?" she startled herself in speaking aloud, not realizing how dry her throat had grown in its unuse.

"Say something."

Emily's eyes snapped opened, a fight welling in her chest akin to the drive that had spurred her to follow the tear-stricken Naomi the night of their meeting.

"Naomi! Naomi!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs, hearing her voice reverberate against the walls before dampening in the carpet of water now overtaking the top drawers of the desk she squatted upon. "Anyone! Please! I don't want to die! Naomi!"

She'd know that voice anywhere. She wanted to know that voice for many evenings past this horrific one that lay out into the stretch of a black void. And so she turned another corner, attempting to follow the repetitive cries of her name, but there was still too much echo within the confines of the soon to be watery, steel grave. "Emily!" she cried through nearly frozen teeth, just as her feet fell on some more manageable floor. The water submerged to just below her waist as she pushed through harder and harder. "Emily!"

"In here!" she finally heard in desperate answer. "Here!" and finally the loud clanking of metal to metal. That she could follow, it didn't reverberate into nothingness. With a few more pushes, using the axe which she had kept within her grasp to pendulum her way through the torrential barrier, she managed to burst her way through a nearly closed door, and found Emily inside, perched atop an almost floating desk like a terrified kitten.

With each step Naomi took, she spoke in a hurried flash, "I was trying to help, honestly, I don't think of him that way anymore, please, Emily, believe me, I was trying to make sure they'd let you go, I only want you, I couldn't-I couldn't leave without you."

"You're real!" Emily laughed, a hint of hysteria in her hoarse voice as she beamed at the sight of a smiling Naomi, tears falling freely from her relieved eyes. She'd wipe the chilly tracks away, but another jingle of her handcuffs brought their attention to their next hurdle. Shifting her weight better to brace herself, edging her body as far away from the lip of the desk as possible, Emily held on to the merry swelling in her heart, letting it deafen her to the risky proposal she would soon present to Naomi. "I know! Naomi, I know - but you should have! Come on, we don't have time to waste." Separating her wrists as far as her restraints would allow, Emily pulled the chain linking the cuffs as taut as she could against the pipe. "Have you swung that thing before?" Emily asked tentatively, eyeing the axe trembling in Naomi's frozen grip.

Through trembling lips, Naomi replied, "I, uh, broke the lock on a gate upstairs but I think that was sheer terrified luck."

"Well I think we're owed some more," Emily responded resolutely, motioning with a jerk of her head for Naomi to settle into a swinging stance. The fear in Naomi's eyes remained solely there as she approached with no hesitation, squaring her feet against the suck and pull of the currents beneath her, testing the heft of the axe above her shoulders. Her eyes zeroed in on the mark Emily presented and while Emily was thankful for her haste, there was one last thing she wanted to say while she still had all of her fingers in tact.

"Naomi," she beckoned the woman's blue eyes to hers. "I trust you."

Naomi bit the bottom of her lip as her gaze fell from Emily to the thin metal target before her. Emily's head ducked behind the pipe to be out of swinging range as Naomi held her breath and brought the axe down onto the rings with all her might. There was a large clash as the blade pierced through the handcuffs and Emily's arms fell free. The minute Emily's limbs were loose, both erupted a simultaneous relieved and joyous cheer at Naomi's success. Naomi dropped the axe back into the depths of the water, relieved to no longer tote its heft as she wrapped her arms around the woman in front of her. She kissed at the tear stained cheeks briefly before she grabbed the smaller girl's hand. "We have to go, the water's almost passed over the far end of the deck. I don't know how much longer before the gate I burst through is flooded."

Emily slowly lowered into the water, swearing loudly as the freezing cold hit the entire lower half of her body. Pushing debris aside every which way, the two of them passed through the opening of the door, only to see a huge push of water start to funnel in from the opposite end of the hallway. "_Run_!" Naomi cried, and as fast as the two of them could manage, they began their dangerous pursuit through the swelling hallways of the dying Titanic.

* * *

_**Ch. 13 Post Date: TOMORROW 4/14**_


	13. April 15th 1912 1:40 AM

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): "Come, Josephine in my flying machine, and it's up she goes . . . up she goes . . ."**

* * *

**04/15/1912 1:40 A.M.**

As helpless as Emily had felt locked away to be forgotten like a drowned rat, she was practically infantile in her aid to Naomi as she blindly followed the woman's manic lead. The rising waters kept them from clasping hands, demanding the strenuous use of both in propelling them through the thick, icy slush of water and debris. Like monkeys, they swung their weight from the pipes and grips lining the ceilings, once untouchable by Emily unless she strained on her tippy-toes. Glimpses of signage indicating their location in blurs as they rushed past, but Naomi's head hardly turned for a one, letting Emily know that the locked gate Naomi mentioned encountering had not been an isolated event. Each sign may as well have read "deathtrap" for all the good they did.

Screams and wails of angry and panicked protest filtered from above. If there was any color left to drain from Naomi's face, Emily was certain it would have as she repeated a disbelieving chorus of "no" in whipsers between the chatter of her teeth. Before Emily could ask, Naomi was turned and urging against her with all her weight.

"Ahead is barracaded. We must have passed it," Naomi explained in shorthand, pointing down the hall and to the left where another staircase peeked around the corner. The longer Naomi pointed, the more assured she seemed to be, spurring Emily to fight the tide of the water with a burst of energy she swore she had already spent. The waters crashed against her chest and neck, making each breath she attempted to suck in as difficult as breathing through a pinched reed. By the time her slippery grip clamped down on the corner, giving her arms the anchor to propel her momentum into the turn, the water was grazing her chin. She took the steps as quickly as her feet could find them, reaching back for Naomi's hand to pull her up before the water swirled about the woman's mouth.

The gate appeared closed, but gave the second Emily's shoulder barreled into it, swinging out with the force. A wild glance around in the split second she stalled for Naomi to take the lead revealed an almost completely abandoned hallway. She could still hear the screams of the unfortunate souls they nearly joined, but as Naomi's hand found hers and tugged her to their next flight of stairs, the screams turned to sputters, water undoubtedly overtaking them.

Bursting above deck, Emily very nearly toppled over Naomi, whose feet had rooted to the ground beneath her at the sight of the surging crowds. While a ghost ship below, Titanic's deck was the front line, every class, every color, every gender, every uniform at war with anyone and anything preventing them from reaching the lifeboats. A small group of third class passengers, nearly all of their clothes in some state of damp, were being held at bay by a barracading line of white-clad bodies, the middle-most with a gun in the air. He bellowed for the covetous crowd to stand back, that only women and children could proceed past this point, while completely ignoring the outraged cries of "there's still room!" from the men he viewed as nothing but frothing dogs in the moment.

By the man's decree, Naomi and Emily should have been able to push through, but Emily could see the deranged glint in the gunman's eye even from where she stood. Knowing what both she and Naomi wore, a feeling in her gut told her they'd be shot by mistake. She didn't have long to weigh their chances before a man broke away from the mass of the third class passengers, stepping into the unspoken no-man's zone between them and the White Star Line employees.

"At least fill the boats, for fook sake's, man!" Cook yelled, the sound of a gunshot punctuating his last words as a bullet perforated his heart. He clutched at his chest as he collapsed to his knees, staring out into the black for but a second before he toppled to his side, blood pooling beneath his body.

"Cook!" Naomi screamed as she covered her mouth from the strangled sound of the dead boy's name.

"No," she heard Emily mumble before she pushed past the crowd to answer her friend's aid. Naomi was about to join her when she was caught by a strong pair of hands which she, up until now, had been certain were already long gone.

"Naomi, thank god. I thought I'd never see you-what happened? Why are you-?" Fredrick's gaze hardened as he surveyed Naomi up and down, taking in the sight of the woman before him. Her mind barely had a moment to calculate the gravity of the danger her former fiance had now placed himself in before she was wrenching herself from him and scrambling toward Emily who was now sobbing over the dead body of her fallen friend, his eyes staring straight up into the brightly lit sky. There wasn't a cloud above them. Every nuance of the black and blue was now his blanket, and the water which was now spilling onto the front of the deck would soon be theirs if Naomi didn't extract Emily from her grieving.

"Emily, he's gone, he's gone, come on," she urged. Emily fought for just a moment to cling on to him, to somehow wrestle him from the wreckage at the very least, but another gunshot rung out, followed by the bellow of a name from a nearby crew member. The man who had shot Cook had now just assassinated himself into the water. Naomi's quick take told her it had been the first mate, Mr. Murdoch, who had surrendered himself from his post. "It's falling apart," Naomi insisted, "they'll swamp this life boat, Emily. We have to find another one. Please. Let him go." Finally her words seemed to have reached Emily who swiped at her eyes and stood pushing her way back into the crowd.

Navigating their way through the stragglers, Naomi eyed the deck up and down before she caught Fredrick's eye again. The two of them stared at one another for several seconds as Naomi squeezed Emily's hand all the tighter. He approached slowly, and for a brief moment, Naomi was a little afraid of what he might do. But he merely draped his coat taut over Naomi's shoulders. "You'll freeze to death if you don't keep warm," he insisted. "There may be some life boats on the other end of the ship. If we leave now." Naomi swallowed and looked to Emily for affirmation. The smaller woman didn't seem to like the circumstances of their fate, but she nodded all the same. Fredrick pulled his focus to Emily for a moment before he ordained, "If you let her die, I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of your days," before he took Naomi's arm with his and led them through an open half corridor on deck, ducking clear of the hysterical masses.

_If I let her die, your haunting will be a whisper in a wail _. . . Emily thought hollowly, the blue of Cook's already-ghosting eyes lending themselves to the imagining of Naomi's own clouding over. She squeezed her eyes as tightly as she squeezed Naomi's hand until pops of dizzying red and white fragmented the clear, petrifying image. Her feet stumbled over themselves as she kept pace with Fredrick and Naomi, but she was thankful that the navigation was no longer in her hands. As the Titanic disappeared deeper and deeper into the Atlantic, it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the fact that had it not been for her, Naomi would be one of the distancing dots bobbing on the water by now, rowing far away from this undiscriminating grave.

"There's one left!" Naomi's disbelieving whisper carried back to Emily's ear, demanding she pull from the confines of their certain death to open her eyes and see for herself. Suspended slanted over the edge of the ship, jerking with the shuffling weight of those already aboard and the efforts of the men at the ropes keeping her aerial, was indeed a lifeboat fit for water. Their approach slowed as Fredrick shifted from go-mode to get-mode, attempting to ascertain who to speak to, if anybody, to admit the women under his watch aboard.

"I need a knife!" Emily's ears pricked at the familiar French lilt and for an absurd moment she mused at how loud her friend's voice could grow when he let it. Looking up above her, certain of where the voice had come from, Emily spotted Thomas. His great hands were holding the ropes caught in the pulley release system taut for others to saw at, but his continued request along with the quickly-rising water illuminated just how ineffectual the current progress was.

"Thomas!" She released Naomi's hand to cup hers over her mouth, calling up to the selfless savior. His eyes met hers, joy and dread seeming to headbutt in the look he gave her as recognition crossed his face. Digging in her pocket, Emily prayed that the water hadn't floated it from her person before she triumphantly thrust a pocket knife into the air, stepping up opon the railing to meet Thomas halfway as she strained to pass it to him. Finally clutching it in his reaching grasp, Thomas lingered a minute longer, shimmying down the rope a few extra inches so that his voice reached Emily's ear over the chaos.

"Miss Emily, you have to get aboard. I do not think you will have another chance."

"And you, Thomas!" He offered a smile that boiled Emily's blood. She knew exactly what it meant even before he glanced up at the rope he clung to.

"There are still many women and children." Bringing the knife to his lips, he bit down on the blade and extended the handle until it snapped securely in place. It was when he kept the blade there, turning his sights upward once again that Emily panicked and reached for him, grasping and tugging at his trouser leg.

"Thomas! You can't die! I didn't bring you here to die!" Making no attempt to free himself from Emily's hold, Thomas removed the blade from between his teeth.

"No. You brought me here for a chance to live. Thank you, Emily." Clamping the knife between his teeth once more, Thomas reached down to encompass Emily's hand, squeezing it with a genuine affection before applying just the right amount of strength to wrench Emily from his clothing. Before Emily could reach for him again, he was scaling back up the rope, twisting his thighs and ankles into the length of it before he was steady enough to start sawing away.

"This is the last one, Naomi, hurry," Fredrick bellowed as he tore the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. Stretching above the masses of men below him, he extracted his entire weight to pull at the rope down and around the water logged fulcrum opposite of where Emily and the dark skinned man were working desperately to free their own end. Turning her attention to work, Naomi quickly helped as many women and children into the lifeboats as the men above started to work at the other end of the wood and rope. The crewmen were having a hard time staving off the panicked men while Fredrick and Emily's friend were left to actually get their now free end of the lifeboat out to port.

As she lifted the last child nearby into their tottering seat, leaving enough room for only four more, in addition to the crewman who would be responsible for rowing the boat out to sea, Naomi stepped aboard. She was doing her best to call out to everyone seated within ear shot, urging them to stay calm. "Naomi!" Fredrick called, "the lever! Above you, we can't reach! Break the wood!" Naomi's flustered gaze shot just overhead as she saw a part of the pulley which would not snap. Reaching high above her head, she felt a familiar pair of arms around her waist as they lifted her a few feet so that she could reach. With a strain of her arm she wrapped her fingers around the wood, the metal beneath adding enough weight to pull down with a large snap.

There was a quick pang in her side as she felt something strike her. The rigging immediately knocked the wind from her as she landed on her back into the boat just as one end of the lifeboat made its way out to the direction of the Atlantic. "Freddie!" she cried, knowing that Emily was behind her, and needing for him to be with her as well. He'd saved her in his own way, he didn't deserve to-but as she offered her hand free, he instead tossed another lonely child into her arms. "Freddie!" she insisted as Emily's friend joined him and started to push alongside the edge of the lifeboat. One of the crewman nearby used his paddle to swat away at the sinking men before he lowered it back into the water.

Naomi's hand reached for Freddie's again, and this time it found him. Their fingers only had a chance to trace against their palms as she cried back to him, "I did love you, you know!" He smiled, the last smile she would ever see of him as he answered to the withdrawing vessel,

"You'll love her better." His focus immediately turned to the onslaught of desperate souls who were still trying to attack the life boat. His actions turned violent as he picked up a piece of the nearby debris and he and two other men began tossing them harshly to the arms of the men trying to lift themselves into the lifeboat. It broke Naomi's heart but she fought like hell to keep them off, all the while ignoring the ever growing pain in her rib cage from the blow she had just suffered.

After several stormy minutes, they were clear of the Titanic, and left to listen to the heralds of the now uncountable souls who were damned to a fate that there would be no absolution from.

* * *

**2:00 A.M.**

The roaring muffled exponentially as the two crewmen stopped manning the helm of the direction. It took the crewman in blue aboard the bow of the small life boat three times calling out, "Stop!" before they appeared to have heard him. Naomi and Emily were settled in the very back, perched against the smallest part of the lifeboat, huddled together for warmth. The attack on the small little get away vessel had been an extremely draining one, and the wind was quickly stripping Naomi of her remaining warmth.

The cold now seemed to be the only thing she could remember. Which was silly. It had only been what, an hour? Two at most? Isn't that what Mr. Andrews had said? Naomi shut her eyes, cradling her head against Emily's shoulder as the sloshing against the small little bow seemed to finally carry some coherent thoughts apart from, "Faster, faster, move, move, run, run, row, row! Live, dammit!"

_Mum...Freddie...Cook...Mr. Andrews...gone. All of them. Hundreds. Thousands. Men. Women. Children. Snuffed out..._A sensation like a dozen bee stings began to radiate in her side, and just as she was about to tell Emily about the burning which was suddenly making it harder to breathe she heard her small companion's teeth begin to chatter. With a strained, slow turn of her head she noticed, somehow for the first time, that Emily was soaked clean to the bone. Her long, wet, raven locks were brushed against the thin material of her shirt. Naomi was not fairing much better but at the very least she had..._Freddie's jacket_. Clutching it at the front hem, she heard the crinkle of some paper. She need only glance inside to see the contents of the pocket. Emily's drawing. Still, somehow, miraculously in tact.

Removing the coat with a fainted hint of a smile, she only had a chance to barely peel it from her shoulders before the sharp pain in her side, and Emily's immediate refusal at her to remove the garment, halted her proceeding. "What are you doing, you'll freeze," Emily protested, trying to stave off Naomi's continued insistence. With a sharp tug, Naomi extracted the coat and cloaked it over Emily's shoulders.

"We'll take turns, ok?" Naomi leaned in close, her nose practically tip to tip with Emily's. "We don't know when or if help is coming." Emily didn't seem to like the logic but conceded all the same as Naomi's hands reached over to rub Emily's arms. In a fluid motion of a smoothing, downward press, Naomi crunched forward, biting back on a harsh moan.

"What is it, what's wrong?" Emily asked. Naomi blinked several times feeling the onset of tears before nodding down at her side. Tenderly, and fearfully, Emily raised Naomi's shirt.

"Jesus, Naomi," she whispered, her eyes widening in horror as Naomi looked down at the large laceration which was already starting to change colors. "What happened?"

"It must've-" Naomi had to pause and take a slow inhale. Breathing in the freezing night air only proved to exacerbate the wound that until moments ago she didn't even know existed. "-it must've happened when Fre-" again she choked. This time on the name. The name she hadn't said aloud since she saw him last. It made it easier to keep speaking when she didn't see Emily recoil at the mere mention of him. "Freddie was cutting the rope. Wood snapped. Something...rigging? Rope? It hit me. Did more damage than I thought."

"Is anyone on this boat a doctor?" Emily asked out to the barren, stricken crowd. A few faces turned toward her. But it was apparent few spoke English. And those who did merely shook their heads. Emily's hands began to tremble against Naomi's skin although this time she was certain it had nothing to do with the cold.

"It's all right, it's ok," Naomi tried to ease, lowering her shirt to obscure the wound from Emily's view. _Out of sight, out of mind_. She brought their foreheads together with the stroke of her palms, swallowing the pain it took to do so. Her vision was blurring. _That's new..._Naomi saw the streaks of tears on Emily's cheeks, and whispered the only comforting words she could think of in that moment, "I love you."

Emily smiled. "I know."

Naomi laughed. Feeling the next words clutch against her own sob. "Don't forget it though." Pulling back just the tiniest bit, Emily's face registered confusion and fear again but Naomi clutched them into a bracing, winded kiss.

"What?" Emily managed to mumble. Naomi wasn't certain if she was beginning to say something or if the question were exactly as it stood. But Naomi didn't give the woman in her arms more than a moment's pause to figure it out as she clung Emily closer, their soaked clothes and stringy damp hair circling one another. The pain was getting worse. So much worse. So fast. It was getting harder to see. To breathe. But she used all of her energy to hold on.

"Just...don't let go, ok?" Naomi whispered into Emily's ear.

* * *

**2:18 A.M.**

Emily's grip tightened and they were still for a brief moment. "Naomi-" but this time her words really were cut short as the ocean in front of them roared with terrifying screams.

Naomi slowly turned her head and saw what had to be the most horrific sight viewed by anyone so far in this century. The Titanic's massive hull stood straight up in the air, and nearly everyone in the Atlantic was either screaming or stricken silent. The freezing night air carried the cries of the lost souls up to Naomi's ears as if they were sitting right beside her. Hundreds of them. Thousands. A dull aching roar sifted through the cacophony of noise as the metal buckled and finally the entire thing snapped, catapulting back down into the water, atop nearly everyone who still remained in the below its pendulum death blow.

The first half of the massive Titanic sunk fully into the ocean, bringing the smaller half which had just separated ricocheting upward yet again. It happened in a matter of minutes. The night stars lit up the ship in the surrounding black water so that hanging, screaming bodies could be seen still clutching to life, or falling to death on the ship's stern.

And then the boat began to lower. Within a few minutes the suction would take them under. Some, if not all, would disappear into the Atlantic. Naomi's heart could hardly bear it...as it seemed to slow...resting her head on Emily's shoulder, there was nothing any of them could do...but watch.

A few people were crying. Sobbing. But most were stunned into ghastly silence.

* * *

**2:23 A.M.**

Naomi's lips raised to kiss Emily's neck. Emily's eyes remained forward, her embrace firmer than ever. The sounds of an oncoming whirlpool were in the distance. The far distance. Slowly, Naomi closed her eyes.

_I'm...so...cold..._

* * *

_**Ch. 14: THE FINAL CHAPTER: TOMORROW 4/15**_


	14. April 15th 1912 2:24 AM

_**"There was peace and the world had an even tenor to its way. Nothing was revealed in the morning the trend of which was not known the night before. It seems to me that the disaster about to occur was the event that not only made the world rub its eyes and awake but woke it with a start keeping it moving at a rapidly accelerating pace ever since with less and less peace, satisfaction and happiness. To my mind the world of today awoke April 15th, 1912." -Jack B. Thayer, Titanic Survivor.**_

* * *

**04/15 2:24 A.M.**

The screams were still prevalent in the distance, but with every passing second, the chorus seemed to dwindle in voices, each one quickly robbed of the breath to carry their agony across the waters. It was practically pitch now, the stars above cruel reminders of a light and warmth many of them would never experience again. The thought sent shivers down Emily's spine, which was remarkable considering she thought she had gone numb. Even the kiss Naomi had placed at her neck had barely registered, and even then it had been colder than it was warmer._ That's it. My turn's up. You need it more._

Breaking her stillness, but never letting go of Naomi, Emily began to remove Fredrick's coat with just the use of her left arm, doing her best not to disturb Naomi upon her shoulder. She managed to get her arm free of the sleeve, feeling a brush of parchment in an inner pocket she hadn't been aware of until now. It was curious, but not as urgent as Naomi's limp head falling from her shoulder, carrying her entire body down with her as she landed squarely in Emily's lap. Emily's hands flew to right her as tenderly as possible, but Naomi's weight felt different . . . less agreeable to her touch. Less accommodating. Propping her back up proved to be a struggle resulting in Emily's hands smeared in the blood from Naomi's doubly-soaked clothes. Bracing the woman's weight with her side, Emily wiped her stained hands vigorously against the damp of her trousers before grasping Naomi's chin to lift her lulling head.

"Naomi. Naomi, you can't go to sleep yet. You have to stay awake." The toe of Emily's shoe slipped beneath her as she adjusted in her seat to better turn towards Naomi. Looking down out of instinct, the blood pooled on the planks beneath them may as well have come from her cheeks with how quickly they drained of color. Emily would have retracted her feet, except there was no room else for her to be. Panic and an intense claustrophobia began to grip her. She needed Naomi to talk her down. But first she needed her to wake up. "Naomi. Naomi." Placing her forehead to Naomi's, Emily's hand was left free to gently slap at Naomi's freezing cheeks. "Naomi! Naomi, please, wake up." No response. Emily slapped harder. Still nothing. Emily slapped harder still. Nothing. "Naomi . . ." Emily's whimper barely eeked past her trembling lips, her stinging hand reforming its grip at Naomi's chin, lifting the woman's blue face, wishing beyond all hope for blue eyes. But no. Not even the red sting of her fervent slaps registered on Naomi's ghostly visage. A sob struck through Emily's entire being like a jagged lightning bolt, the sound of her pained thunder a split second behind the physical revulsion at her sudden realization.

_No. Not Naomi._

Clutching Naomi's cheeks between her quaking hands, Emily placed kiss after kiss across Naomi's forehead, nose, lips, chin - all the while resisting the urge to shake the woman like a petulant child. Her head dipped to Naomi's neck last, her lips pressing just where Naomi's pulse would be. Should be. Wasn't. Another sob shook Emily, but this one she muffled against Naomi's skin, hands falling from her face to gather her body as close as humanly possible.

"I love you! I love you! Naomi . . . Naomi, why didn't I say it? I love you, too. Naomi . . ."

* * *

**3:01 A.M.**

Emily's wailing hadn't ceased in the thirty minutes since discovering Naomi's passing. Every time it seemed that she had cried all the tears in her body, more sprung in place. Her cheeks were layered in a thin glass of her tears. It cracked painfully against her bitten skin with every painful part of her lips as she sucked in short breaths of even icier air to stave off blacking out. Her throat felt coarser than sandpaper for the effort, but she was afraid of the silence she would have to face if she stopped now. No one else cried. The screams had stopped at least a quarter of an hour ago. If Emily stopped crying, she'd have to accept the silence that Naomi contributed to; she'd have to accept that she would never hear Naomi's voice again.

_"Just...don't let go, ok?"_

"I won't. I won't ever let go," Emily cried through the chatter of her teeth, gathering Naomi closer despite the fact that the woman's body now leeched Emily's pitiful heat in the absence of its own. She descended into another bout of rib-wracking gasps before another voice joined hers in the night.

"Stop it! Just stop it, will you! You soddin' banshee, she's dead, okay?" A young teenage boy, not right beside but two persons out from Emily, bleated like an injured wildebeest. His wild, blue eyes were prominent against his dirty face, irises buzzing with a sanity that Emily could tell was slipping before her very eyes as she looked up at him stonily. He wasn't in his right mind, but he continued to speak with an entitled authority that bordered on hysteria. Emily doubted he had ever spoken to anyone like this before, driven to aggression from the sheer chaos of everything, but her capacity for understanding stunted the longer he spoke. "Like the rest of 'em, all dead. But you just keep-God, wailing and wailing." Emily narrowed her eyes, but did nothing else to acknowledge the boy's verbal lash out. "Just shut up about it, yeah? Leave her in the water and be done with it. Don't you think we deserve _some _shred of soddin' peace!?"

Emily wouldn't have spoken, but the boy lurched forward to his feet, his intent towards Naomi's body clear before the motion upset the boat. Barely. But enough for the passengers aboard to gasp and murmur in fright and anger. Enough for the boy to sit back down as Emily stated shakily, "No more than she did," her arms wrapping tighter still around Naomi at the mere mention of giving her body to the sea. She continued to stare back at the boy, silent while doing so, until he was pacified enough to look away and return to his own mute suffering.

Now that she was still and quiet, pain unlike the agony of her current existence began to register. First in her ankles, which proved to be the farthest down along her body that she could actually feel. Then in her side - the side bearing Naomi's weight. The crick in her neck where she cradled Naomi's head. Her frost-bitten hands, nose, ears, lips, all still freshly kissed by Naomi not just five hours ago. All of it seemed manageable in comparison, so she remained in silence and suffered her physical pain, feeling it all until she could grow numb to hurting.

* * *

**4:00 A.M.**

Sleep had found her somehow, somewhere in the middle of wishing this were all a nightmare. As she woke she groaned, even before her eyes opened. She could already feel reality setting in around her, despite trying her damnedest to delay her reclamation into the present. It was Naomi's dead weight that she could ignore least, pressing needles into her side as her veins pricked to life in her shifting. The murmuring voices around her were offensive at first, a reminder that no one on the lifeboat had cared enough to stir her awake. Never mind the freezing cold, if they were anything like the young lad who had snapped earlier, they were probably just thankful for her silence. So why were the hypocrites abuzz now?

Opening her eyes in a wincing effort, feeling the seal of crusty, salty sleep on her eyelids crumble apart, Emily first looked around at her boat fellows before their unanimous stare turned her to the light bobbing off in the distance. It was a brighter light than the lanterns provided with the Titanic's lifeboats. And it moved in a beam, sweeping back and forth in a slow and steady pendulum. As the light bobbed closer, the murmuring buzz around her increased in volume, hints of hope breaking through the doubt. The long, shrill screech of a whistle caused an eruption of offended moans from those nearest to the whistle-blower, but they died down almost instantaneously. Those with whistles scrambled to find them on their beings, joining the lone whistle until Emily's ears were filled with nothing but the desperate shriek of those not ready to die. Emily wasn't certain she was one of them.

The sweeping light honed in on their location before the sound of whistles erupting from the lifeboats around them caused the beam to bounce about, taking a headcount of every surviving vessel. Squinting in its direction, the breath in Emily's lungs seized. What she had mistaken for low-hanging stars in the encompassing night sky had actually been light spilling from the port and starboard windows lining the sides of a towering ship. She was no Titanic, but with every passing minute she grew larger and brighter until voices could carry from her passenger loading doors above to their ears. They sounded warm and well-fed as they took turns bellowing over the scattered whistle calls.

"We are the RMS Carpathia. If you have oars, please approach the port or starboard side for immediate extraction. We will be sending out lifeboats for those of you without means to approach. Please, at this time, do not blow your whistles unless you are aboard a stagnant lifeboat."

The White Star Line employees aboard Emily's lifeboat sprung into action, revived by the timber of an authoritative voice, casting their oars into the waters with the last of their steam. Mothers stirred children. Children in turn whined for food and drink and warmth, all of which and more was promised to them as their loved ones clutched them close.

_I'm going to live,_ Emily thought numbly, chest shuddering at how hollow the realization sat. _I'm going to live and I have no clue how to do it anymore. _It made sense now, how she could allow herself to drift off. Exhaustion, sure, but Emily had endured exhaustion before, in situations where remaining awake were not nearly as dire. It was easier than that. Part of her had simply resigned to the effortlessness of death. A small part. The part that willed memories of Naomi to continue on into dreams, taking them places they'd never been and would never be. Only in her dreams would that ever be the case again. In her dreams . . . or in her death. And now that death was being robbed. Now she had no excuse. Now there was something to hold onto and a promise she had made, was tricked into, agreed to anyway that bound her to hold on tight; the last promise she would ever make to Naomi.

_" . . . don't let go . . ."_

They were ship-side in minutes, the lifeboat tipping precariously as the instinct of the seventy-plus mass aboard drew them to the side of rescue. Emily and Naomi remained as two of the handful seated, counterweights to livelier souls. Emily watched the strong arms of good men pull person after person up the last few rungs of the boarding ladder and into the folds of safety. She watched every last passenger board, counting down with each head the seconds to when she would have to let Naomi pass into the arms of another. When no one else but the men manning the oars were left aboard, Emily knew her time was up.

"Miss . . ." there was no mistaking the hesitant tenderness in the nearest oar man's voice as he stooped beside Emily. Considering their last two hours together, it came as no surprise that he only made the effort of addressing Emily. Everyone knew of Naomi's passing. At least, everyone aboard her lifeboat.

Emily could not bring herself to answer or to look up at the man, her head downcast and eyes burning with a fresh onset of tears. Before she knew it, Naomi's weight against her side let up, the woman's frail, frozen body hoisted from her by two sets of arms. Emily howled horribly, clutching at Naomi's clothes only to find her hands were too numb to secure a grip. Naomi slipped from Emily as effortlessly as she had in death. Now, more than ever, Emily had to be brave.

"No! Stop! I-I want to help." Emily stood to her feet with the help of the man beside her, using his upturned palm to brace her weight as she placed a hand in his, the other ever-reaching for Naomi. The two men handling Naomi's body looked to one another, just beginning to size up Emily's pitiful form before the man beside her nodded down at her. Stepping carefully as to not rock the boat, he joined the others, kneeling down to brace Naomi's weight at her shoulders and the small of her back before looking up at Emily. She followed his wordless beck, hooking her arms up and beneath Naomi's armpits so that the back of her lover's head rested against Emily's chest.

"Okay . . ." Emily croaked, lifting her chin high to avoid catching Naomi's uncannily still features in her peripheral vision. At her go, the three men lifted, letting Emily set the pace as they inched Naomi's body to the makeshift hoist being lowered to them. Setting Naomi into the white bed sheet, Emily gently lowered Naomi's head into its cradle, lips trembling as she brought them down to place one last kiss upon Naomi's lips. She could hardly contain the sob in her throat as what was meant to be a peck extended on and on . . . up until the pulleys above began to lift Naomi into the air. Emily withdrew out of necessity more than anything, panic gripping her as she quelled the urge to throw her body over the sling and keep them suspended between death and rescue. Eyes tearing away and to the boarding ladder, Emily took to the rungs, scaling up at the pace of Naomi's ascent. As she reached the top, alert gaze still following the white sheets swaddling Naomi, another kind but urging voice prompted her yet again.

"Miss, may I have your name?"

Emily watched as the men waiting above deck bent down to gather Naomi from the sheet, carrying her in a few feet from the lip of the ship before stopping at the behest of a nurse. The woman placed her fingers at Naomi's pulse point, waited ten seconds, then, with a truly saddened frown, directed the men below decks.

"Campbell." Emily uttered, eyes still on the door Naomi had just disappeared behind. "Emily Campbell."

_**FIN**_

* * *

**FINAL AUTHOR'S NOTE (whedonite1113): What started off as a "what if" idea quickly became a fun, whirlwind of an endeavor with my all time favorite writing partner. From conception to execution, this has been an absolute joy to complete with her, and she deserves all the credit for this chapter since she alone wrote every word of this finale's opus. I sincerely hope everyone has enjoyed travelling this voyage with us, and while the ending was heartbreakingly inevitable, I urge everyone to remember that death does not void anything we do in this life. If it did no one's lives would matter, it would **_**all**_** be nothing but waste and I know we are more than that. We're all stories in the end. And it's up to us to make them good ones, because they are, they're the best. Thanks again for reading, and you've not seen the last of us, separately or together!**

**(ItFeelsSoWrite): With our story complete, I have a request. Whedonite and I have taken immense care in honoring the historical events of Titanic. It has become apparent that many of our readers did not wish for the tragic end that James Cameron chose. To this, I can only say that no one, not a single relative to the actual lives lost that grave night, wanted for their loved ones to die. But it happened. In one of the worst singular tragedies, it happened. And to deny that it happened is to erase something that changed the lives of thousands. So not for our egos, but in respect for those that lost their lives, on the anniversary of its happening no less, we beg you refrain from one sentence reviews lamenting the death of one or few characters. If that is all you have to say to the ending of a story we hope has depicted a grander scale outside of our beloved Naomily, we do not wish to hear it.**

**On that note, we hope that you all have been able to glean something from this fic and that it will stick with you as a tale not to be forgotten. After all, in the words of The Doctor, "Some people live more in twenty years than others do in eighty. It's not the time that matters, it's the person." Go on with your lives. Live them. Because what you do matters, even after death.**


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